


In Perpetuity

by Starherd



Series: Contractual Obligations [1]
Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: Author has feels leftover from the 90s regarding X-Men obviously, Character Death, Cheese, Death is not a revolving door, Dysphoria, Emergency Backup Flug, Flug just wants to go home it's not his fault that involves so much plot, Freaking Heroes, Graphic Violence, Mostly Flug being miserable and awful, Not A Cinnamon Roll, Other, Poisonous Fish Out Of Water, Self-Destructive Impulses, Sortof, Starherd's Flug's-Bag-Is-A-Flat Headcanon, Unrequited obsession, the fic STARTS with major character death, when there's violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:01:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 76,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22358383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starherd/pseuds/Starherd
Summary: Dr. Flug was Black Hat's head scientist at the Black Hat Organization, and one of the very few people close to the eldritch abomination, right up until he came down with a fatal case of death.He got better, but there's complications - namely, he is now apparently a member of the hero organization known as the Y-Men.Flug would really like to go home now, please.Whether there's a home to go back to or not.
Relationships: Black Hat & Dr. Flug (Villainous), Dr. Flug (Villainous) & Original Character(s)
Series: Contractual Obligations [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891201
Comments: 126
Kudos: 92





	1. Jefecito

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death is only the beginning.

[Music: [Everything Ends Here by GunPowderBob (Blue Lion Music)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DzWl24F_-YQ) ]

"Backup! I need backup!"

The Copper Kid recognized that reedy voice. He'd seen the videos. That was no less than Dr. Flugslys, the head of the Black Hat Organization's R&D division. But if he was here -

It was hard to think with the chaos going on around him. Two more Hat Bots dove at him; Copper leapt, slapping his hands on the bots' heads as they collided, melting through and downing them in a shower of sparks. He vaulted onto a girder, then melted through it so that half fell to destroy three more 'bots - but that left him toppling down onto the factory floor again. "Best training raid ever!" he shouted, rewarded with Livewire's bellowing laugh across the room.

It took a few more moments before he had space to remember what he'd been thinking. If Dr. Flug was here, that meant that this was high-profile, didn't it? And he'd only been a trainee for a few missions!

"What do you mean you're stuck in traffic!" Flug shouted into a curiously low-fi walkie-talkie. "They're wrecking the - HRK!"

Now that was a sight to behold. Copper grinned at his other teammate, an overly busty woman who had just hoisted Dr. Flug up by the throat. "Hey, Livewire, whaddaya want me to do with this?!" the woman shouted.

Her crowing ended in a shocked shriek as Flug twisted in her grip and stabbed her arm with a hypodermic needle he'd pulled from his lab coat. She dropped him, stumbled backward, and pitched over the railing of the Hat Bot-defended control mezzanine.

She shouldn't have _fallen_ \- she could _fly_ , for crying out loud. There was an impression of horribly silent writhing where the blonde heroine had fallen. Copper caught glimpses of flailing limbs past the crates in the way.

And then the kicking legs went still.

Copper jumped from a stack of crates to a creaking broken beam to an open upper level, running to get a better look at where she'd fallen.

Livewire got there on foot first. And knelt. And screamed her name.

Dr. Flug hauled himself to his feet, swaying and rubbing his throat, and gave a nervous laugh. "Well, heh, she _really_ shouldn't have..."

Flug trailed off as Livewire's head whipped around toward him, electricity crackling up his arms from his clenched fists. The hero's voice was thunder. " _HOW DARE YOU!_ "

Flug froze, glanced down at the empty hypodermic needle still held loosely in his hand, and quickly tossed it away.

Their teammate was dead. She was dead and Copper wished that he hadn't gotten a look at her now swollen, purple-black face after all.

This was one mad scientist that had just run out of luck; Livewire was notoriously hair-triggered and obviously not taking this gracefully. Copper barely had time to throw himself behind a support pillar, praying that the floor wouldn't collapse, as the air surrounding Livewire's overloading body exploded. At his feet, the twisted remains of his former teammate were incinerated.

Copper was coughing and trying to peer around the support pillar again even before his ears stopped ringing and certainly before the smoke and dust cleared. The side of the factory that Livewire had been facing was destroyed. Livewire himself was slumped on his knees; it'd be a few minutes before he'd be up again. Copper could hear him sobbing, and his own eyes were stinging, but shock still insulated him from the magnitude of what had happened.

He became aware of a slight wheezing sound over toward where the mezzanine had been, and his searching gaze found Dr. Flug. The villain was covered in viscera, bleeding so badly that the area was soaked and glistening despite the dust. Part of him was crushed and torn away, his remaining limbs twisted, but he still gave tiny wet gasps every second or so.

It crossed Copper's mind to go finish the job and kill the bastard, but it looked like Flug might not survive long enough for him to get there.

She was dead, she was dead, she was dead. Copper blinked rapidly, trying to clear tears from his suddenly blurring vision -

It wasn't his vision. Something was happening.

The smoke and shadows seemed to flow together and congeal, and in the space of time it took Copper to blink and squint, someone else was standing in the rubble. He could make out a dark shape, tall, thin, wearing a...

Oh no. Oh god. Oh _shit_.

Lord Black Hat himself was standing over his fallen minion, staring down with what might have been disdain, or disappointment.

Copper couldn't move. Couldn't look away. Black Hat was right there, a hundred feet away, in person. If you could call him a person.

He caught a dim gurgling sound - Copper couldn't make out any words, if there were any, over the sound of his pounding heart. Dr. Flug's hand twitched, then shifted a few inches, and managed to close loosely over his master's ankle.

The demon's caricature of a scowl deepened, and with a twitch of his foot he scuffed the gloved hand away. In one swift motion, his own hand lashed, swooped down, fingers elongating into blade-like claws on the way, and decapitated the already dying man.

Copper's stomach churned, but he still couldn't look away, as Black Hat stooped and reached toward the corpse.

Livewire suddenly roared in anger - he'd recovered faster than Copper had thought he could - and charged at _the living embodiment of evil itself._ There was no chance of the trainee intervening even if he could move, and he was rooted to the spot in fear. He couldn't even call out, and there was no way he could be heard anyway, given Livewire's berserker state.

It was over in a blink. Without even looking, Black Hat lifted one hand and snapped clawed fingers that still dripped blood. The air in front of Livewire ripped open, and unable to stop himself, the hero hurtled into a black void of moaning screams and despair and terror. The air sealed behind him with an almost musical ping as if he'd never been there at all.

Copper jerked back, standing with shoulders flush against the pillar. He wasn't sure if his hand was clamped over his mouth to keep himself from screaming or losing his lunch or both. He squeezed his eyes shut.

He was the only one left. His only hope of escaping alive was to either make a run for it - like that would work out, if that demon decided to attack him - or wait, and hope that he either wasn't noticed or was deemed inconsequential.

He couldn't hear anything over his own breath hissing through his nose. He opened his eyes and lowered his hand, swallowed, and made an effort to control his breathing... and still couldn't hear anything.

All he had to do was look. He could quickly glance past the edge of the pillar like he had a moment ago.

All he had to do was stand straight on his wobbling legs and turn just a little bit.

With a deep breath to steel himself, he quickly turned.

Lord Black Hat was right next to him, eldritch face inches from his own. Copper's scream caught in his throat - or rather, his throat was caught in one thin, black, obscenely strong hand.

"I noticed your attempt to hide," Black Hat rasped at him. The scent of chemical and rot on the monster's breath was enough to make Copper gag anew, and he made a choked sound, feet helplessly scrabbling at the ground as he was lifted just enough to prevent him from finding purchase.

An off-color forked tongue flickered out a few times, almost but not quite touching his cheek. "Quite cowardly. Laudanum instincts." With a crinkle of paper and the aid of materializing shadow-hands, Black Hat upturned the blood-soaked bag he'd held under his other arm, dropping the severed head of his scientist out of it. He lifted the bag toward Copper's face. "Might I interest you in a change of profession?"

\------------

Hundreds of miles away, in the Wellspring telepathic amplification surveillance tower, Jeanne Gris screamed and collapsed. While Marmot and Monobeam collided with each other attempting to render assistance, Instructor Y lifted up the helmet that had fallen from Jeanne's head, only to telepathically sense a fading cacophony of screams and feedback.

"The entire team," she murmured in shock. "Livewire, Copper Kid, Aereola - they're all... gone!"

Shadowshine began to cry. "We - We have to tell Mr. Hallow," she sobbed. "The Pact - B-Black Hat can't directly attack like that -"

Instructor Y hung her head. "The Truce is unbroken. I - I'd thought it was better not to tell you..."

"You knew it was a Black Hat Org facility all along," Marmot trilled, pushing his squabble with Monobeam (and Monobeam himself) aside as he stood. "You knew!"

Instructor Y covered her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Graphic Violence" tag = your mileage may vary. I've been told before that what I consider Just Enough is too much, so I figured, better safe than sorry.
> 
> My partner has been trying to get me properly into Villainous fandom for, like, a year now, and I'm finally in a position to do so rather than just passively enjoying. So you have Grunkle Catspit to thank for this. He wanted me to unleash my headcanon on the world, so that's what this is, among other things.
> 
> Please pardon (and point out) my rustiness. I've written fanfic for a long time (am also Starherd on FanFiction.net... does that still exist? :P ), but haven't been able to write for a long time. The stars have finally aligned and I seem to have awoken from my slumber, but I haven't had my coffee yet.


	2. I'm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a problem is identified and a goal is set.

[Music: [Exile Vilify by The National](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G-Vg2YS-sFE) ]

_Mayday! Mayday!_

Flug flailed, one hand coming down hard on the alarm clock next to his cryobed. He groaned and blinked groggily as the plexiglass shield entirely retracted. His head hurt and there was a funny metallic taste in his mouth - if he didn't know better he'd think he'd barely slept and was hung over to boot.

But he hadn't been drinking or anything, had he? No, definitely not. Yesterday had probably just been exhausting... yes, come to think of it, that had been yet another hero-induced fiasco, hadn't it. Ugh. And then nightmares, on top of that. Again. He must've been too tired to set the cryobed properly.

The daily grind couldn't wait for nightmares. Flug hauled himself upright, taking a moment before he stood to look across the room to where 5.0.5. was curled up, peacefully snoring like a blue-furred boulder in a nest of plushies.

Flug smiled softly. Some things just made it all worth it.

\------------

Flug opened his eyes, blinking slowly.

The ceiling looked strange. Something was off about the color. No, he thought, brow furrowing - it wasn't just the ceiling. Something was wrong with his eyes.

His goggles. Oh hell, where were his goggles! And... 

His expression went slack with shock. Slowly, shaking, he raised his hands to his face.

He could feel his face. _He could feel his face._

Where the hell was his paper bag. Why was his face smooth - where were his _scars?!_ And what the hell was he _wearing?!_ Oh god.

He sat bolt upright, eyes wide. His breathing felt wrong; something was dizzyingly off about his torso's weight distribution.

It took a moment for what he was seeing to register. This room - this wasn't his room. There was a - a sunny rectangular window, with heavy dander-trapping curtains, and - and the walls weren't curved, and there was - was that _white wainscoting?!_

Through a portal to the right, he could see someone sitting up in a bed, staring at him. A woman with long wavy silver-violet hair and silver eyes. He blinked, lifting a hand.

The silver woman blinked and lifted a hand.

Not a portal. A mirror.

Flug screamed at the top of his lungs.

His voice was all wrong. It wasn't his voice. Or his face. Or his body.

He kept screaming anyway, over and over, curling into a ball with his hands - his? - gripping the sides of his head, clawing at the silver hair. Oh god what had he done? Yesterday, the attack at the factory, he couldn't remember but obviously he'd screwed up so badly that Black Hat had, had, _this._ He was so good at coming up with punishments but this was just too much!

"I'm sorry!" Flug shouted, starting to desperately rock back and forth. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry -"

"Jeanne!" The room's door was thrown open so violently that it banged against the wall. "Jeanne, it's all right, It's going to be all right, I'm here!"

Weight didn't so much settle as dive onto the bed next to him. Hands landed on his shoulders.

Flug shrieked again and twisted away and lashed out, only to have his wrists caught by the sandy-haired man invading his space. "Jeanne!"

The displaced scientist caught his breath, swallowing the vocal expression of his terror, mind racing. The man was staring back at him with desperate concern from behind dark-tinted goggles. He looked familiar - the swoop of his clean-cut hair, chiseled features, the goggles... Oh no. Monobeam. Richard Springer. Long-time Hero. One of the team leaders of the Y-Men (one of the more unfortunately named Hero organizations). The man was a known instructor at the Yolanda School for Special Children, which had the annoying tendency to churn out questionably-qualified heroes at, frankly, an alarming rate. Though quite a few villains had gotten their start there as well.

But that would mean -

Oh, shit. Suddenly everything made sense. The woman with silver hair and eyes - that had to be Jeanne Gris. A ridiculously powerful ESPer, if he recalled correctly, also affiliated with the Yolanda School, known to be involved with Monobeam. If she'd been telepathically linked with those fools that had attacked the factory, then somehow, she must have swapped bodies with him.

That was - that was just - god, he felt violated. His own body would be fine of course, he knew; Black Hat would have caught on immediately and imprisoned her, hopefully before she could get a read on his actual identity. So all he had to do was wait for things to be set right. Right? Right.

...Known to be involved with Monobeam. Ew.

"I'm fine?" He squeaked, then coughed and swallowed, ducking his head and nodding. "I'm - I'm fine. I. Uh. Nightmares?"

Monobeam dragged him into a tight embrace that set his nerves to jangling. "Oh, Jeanne! We were so worried! The team you were monitoring was - was lost, and you collapsed -"

That pretty much confirmed his theory. Flug mentally marked a win. He tried to relax in Monobeam's arms, though it was exceptionally difficult - with his hands up against this guy's chest he just felt trapped. "I... don't remember," he said carefully, the higher voice feeling strange in his throat. "The team...?"

"They're gone," Monobeam said sadly, drawing back just enough to bend and press his forehead to Flug's shoulder and throat. Flug tensed painfully, gritting his teeth; it took a supreme effort to not just start screaming again. "Livewire, Copper Kid, Aereola," Monobeam went on, oblivious. "They're all dead."

Over the man's shoulder, where he couldn't see, one side of what was now Flug's mouth twisted into a smile. _Yes!_

"At least they took one of those bastards with them."

 _No!_ The smile faded as Flug's stomach dropped. "Wh-what?"

"The idiot Black Hat Organization scientist with the paper bag. Blown to bits."

The only thing that mitigated the shock Flug felt anew was the sudden urge to strangle this man with Gris' bare hands. Monobeam only took advantage of the sudden increased weakness of Flug's limbs to tighten his embrace again. "I know, honey, I shouldn't talk like that, but I'm just - he killed Aereola. And _laughed._ "

And given the opportunity, he was going to bump off Monobeam and make obvious that it was the man's own stupidity, too.

A wobbly feeling shot through him. He was dead. His body was dead. Eradicated. This was all that was left of him.

Flug suddenly wanted very much to go home. His eyes were wide but stinging sharply. Dementia might miss him but she'd be okay, and Black Hat would be fine at least until the production schedule dropped and - god, what was he going to do without new inventions to market? Maybe he'd unleash a rampage of vengeance... well, that was a nice fantasy, but honestly he'd probably just forget all about Flug and find someone else to do his job, eventually. Moving on seemed to be how Black Hat handled... setbacks. Flug could appreciate that, he told himself, as the stinging in his eyes gave way to welling tears.

But 5.0.5. - who was going to take care of 5.0.5.?

The tears didn't stay in his eyes. Flug's now frighteningly smooth face crumpled and he gave an intense sniffle that ended in an uncontrollable squeak.

"Oh god I'm sorry!" Monobeam loosened his grip again. "Jeanne, I'm sorry, that was too much, I - It's all right -"

"No it's not!" Flug wailed, hating the voice that came out of him. The sobbing only got worse.

"I know, I know, I mean, it'll be all right -"

"No it won't!"

"You're right, it won't ever be, I know -"

Flug wondered if he could suffocate this fool, or at least shut him up, by ramming his fist down the man's throat. He pushed at Monobeam as forcefully as he could; the man released his hold and sat back, clearly confused.

"NO," Flug said firmly, sniffling and trying to swallow further sobs. "Leave me alone, you - you -" _Jackass, Moron, Creep, Piece of -_ "You don't understand," Flug finished, shoulders sagging. God, he hated the way his voice was cracking; it sounded like whale song and hurt his throat.

"I'm sorry," Monobeam said so quickly that Flug had to doubt the sincerity of it. "Jeanne, I -"

"Just leave me alone," Flug choked. "I need t-to process... Need to..." He trailed off helplessly, and looked down at the foreign hands on folded legs he didn't recognize. His hands, now. His legs. Fuck, he was going to start sobbing again.

"Of course. You're right. I'm sorry," Monobeam said again. He slid from the bed and to his feet. "I'll... check back later?"

"Mm." Flug swallowed hard, nodding his bowed head, trying not to flinch at the long light hair that spilled over his shoulder with the motion. He needed time. He could get control of himself - what was now his self - if he just had some time.

"...Right," Monobeam mumbled after a moment, stepping back. When Flug didn't look up at him or respond, he made for the door. "I'll check back later." With that ominous reaffirming of his previous statement, he left, the door's latch clicking behind him.

The moment he was gone, Flug launched out of the bed to lock the door, nearly falling in the process as an inadvisably pale rug slipped under one foot. He stayed upright, and got the door locked, but wound up on his knees, breathing fast and feeling sick.

He tried to find something to concentrate on to distract himself. Anything. He cast his gaze over the room - maybe he could focus on learning these surroundings.

Everything in the room - bed, desk, nightstand, dresser, wardrobe, doors that revealed a closet full of boxes and a bathroom, curtains, rugs, even the hardwood floor - had a purple-white-silver color scheme that was so cohesive it was disturbing. Even the bathroom itself kept the theme going. This was a glorified dorm room somewhere in the massive Golden Age building that housed the Yolanda School.

He knew how to survive in a dorm room, at least. With almost jerky movements he braced the chair from the desk under the doorknob, cranked up the air conditioner, flopped back on the bed, and tried to keep it together and think through the situation.

At several points over the next hours, he failed at keeping it together. At least with the calming drone of the air conditioner, any passers by would be less likely to wonder and ask. Even if it was February.

He ignored the subsequent dehydration headache for as long as he could, trying to mentally orchestrate a way out of this situation. He wanted - he needed to get home. Even if he could get away from this place, he'd still have to find a way to prove his identity to Black Hat if he wanted to regain his position. Unfortunately, with his actual body apparently destroyed, nobody would be looking for him, and trying to access the Manor like this would be seen as an attack. He'd be killed.

He'd have to find something to do that would get Black Hat's attention. He'd done it before; he could do it again.

There was a knock at the door, and Monobeam's voice - "Jeanne?" - came barely audible over the air conditioner. Flug tried to keep as still and silent as possible until he saw the shadow visible under the door move away again.

He needed to make a list of assets - anything he could use to help his situation. He had _a_ body, at least, and possession of his faculties. That would be a good head start, if it wasn't that it seemed to be the _only_ thing he had.

The list of obstacles was much, much longer. Even if he could convince the Y-Men that "Jeanne" was fine enough to leave on her own, he'd no money for travel, and he'd still need a plan to -

His stomach growled, and Flug realized that he'd no idea when this body had last fed.

It was dark outside, now. If he stalled for a few more hours, he could probably sneak down to the kitchens with a minimum of contact with anyone else here. Such timing was another thing he'd had to learn during his academic career.

It was well past one in the morning when the door of Jeanne Gris' room clicked, and opened, and Flug peered out into the empty hallway beyond for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goal: Hat Manor  
>  Part 1: List of Assets  
>  Heading A: Self  
>  Subsection i: brain (in use)  
>  Subsection ii: body (incomprehensible screaming)


	3. Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Resources Are Acquired.

[Music: [The World Ender by Lord Huron](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-TGld4a5Mb4) ]

Spending a few hours hungry was nothing so far as Flug was concerned; he preferred to reduce the risk of confrontation.

He'd spent the intervening time making improvements to his situation as best he could. The scissors he'd found in the desk were relatively blunt, intended to cut paper, but had been functional enough for hacking off most of that awful silver-violet hair, leaving a messy but serviceable bob (more comfortable, and less for anyone to grab if he came under attack). The long manicured fingernails he'd cut down for the opposite reason - they'd have made for reasonable self-defense, but Flug found them too difficult to work with.

The Protectorex bodysuit he'd woken up wearing was good for its given purpose as a superhero uniform, what with the treated fabric's temperature control and impact resistant qualities, but it did get itchy after a while. Monobeam had been in plainclothes, indicating that such were acceptable here. To that end, Flug had raided Gris' wardrobe and dresser until he'd come up with something reasonable to wear. In this case "reasonable" was yoga pants, a plain long-sleeved tee, a plush bath robe, and a pair of well-worn sneakers that had been hiding under the bed. 

The best find, though, had been the sunglasses. They were the nearly-clear-lensed sort that were only really good for making it look like one wore glasses when one normally didn't. In this case, though, they were a great relief - the familiar weight across the bridge of his nose greatly improved Flug's ability to keep from poking at his current face.

A better find would have been the cellphone that matched the charger on the nightstand, but he'd been unable to locate any such thing.

The kitchen would be on the ground floor, Flug guessed as he crept out into the dim hallway. As it turned out, Gris' room was on the fourth floor, and the mansion was _sprawling_. The bulk of at least the top two floors seemed to be devoted to dorm rooms; light showed from under the doors of a few, and a few doors were open and had to be carefully skirted. But eventually, he crept down the last broad flight of stairs, and padded across the marble floor, keeping as close to the walls and shadows as he could.

This was a school, after all; all he needed to do was - ah, yes, there. A map was mounted to the wall at the back of the entry hall, where corridors branched to either side. All he needed to do was find the cafeteria.

There, at the end of yet another wood-paneled hallway, where the hall turned to continue on to something called the "Roost". The area seemed to be deserted, and he moved with a little more confidence toward a set of swinging doors with round windows that were clearly not original to the building.

Moonlight spilled in through tall windows onto the tiled floor of the cafeteria seating area. Flug poked his head through the right-hand door and glanced about, then stepped through and closed it carefully rather than let it swing shut behind him. The dining hall was empty and silent, and he had a straight shot through to the kitchen. It was just beyond that next swinging door.

He laid a hand on the kitchen door and pushed it open.

The ambient moonlight poured into the darkened kitchen to reveal a young woman sitting cross-legged on the counter, cradling a pint of ice cream with a hand that flickered with dim green light. She looked up with a guilty start, spoon in her mouth.

Flug's momentum had already brought him into the room, and the door swung shut behind him, bumping his back. "Uh," he said, mind racing. This was a student and he was... he was in the body of a teacher here. What would Jeanne Gris do?

While he stood there for a moment too long, the girl - she couldn't be more than, what, sixteen? Seventeen? - extended the spoon toward him. "Want some?"

He only hesitated a moment longer, before glancing at the vanilla ice cream, then back up at the girl's face. "I'm good."

She nodded, looked down at the ice cream, stared like it had suddenly become incredibly interesting, and took a deep breath. Flug steeled himself: the dreaded prospect of interpersonal interaction was at hand. By her deference she knew Jeanne as an authority figure, so, she was probably going to start talking to him about -

"Okay I wasn't ready for this but I'm really glad you're here because I really need to talk to you about Dick."

"Uh," Flug said again, blinking.

"Don't get the wrong idea!" The girl exclaimed. "I mean I guess he's okay as team leader? What do I know, I've only been backup for a few years now. But he like... he won't stop referring to me as an 'Asian beauty' and yeah, I was adopted out of Korea, but it's... it's gross. The whole 'flower of womanhood' thing, too. I told him to stop it and he was just all 'don't be so hard on yourself, you're very beautiful' and it's just... ugh." She waved the spoon as she spoke. "Maybe he'd listen to you?" She stabbed the spoon back into the ice cream. "Because I swear to god if he keeps this up I'm going to make him Ex-Lax brownies."

Flug blinked again as he tried to adjust for the unexpected direction of conversation. "Ye...eah, that is just... that's inappropriate," he responded. Dick. Team Leader. She was talking about Richard Springer. Monobeam.

"I'm just joking," the girl said quickly, ducking her head again. "I'm sorry, I'd never _really_ , you know -"

"No." That was just too much. "No, I mean, him saying that. Completely inappropriate." So it wasn't just the impression Flug had gotten from him - Monobeam-who-would-now-forever-rightfully-be-Dick seemed to be one of those slimeballs that tried to force people into his personal script and couldn't be dissuaded. "I think Ex-Lax brownies would be letting him off easy." 

Crud, Flug hadn't meant to say that last bit out loud, but this was just... it was unreasonably disrespectful. It wasn't even evil - it was just _wrong_. And it was the kind of attitude with which Flug had grown up.

Black Hat never expected him to change to fit an imaginary role, Flug thought with a pang of homesickness. He _liked_ being accepted for who he was - the past several years had been the best time of his life. Routinely terrifying, but the best.

Except that now he was dead. _Goddammit don't start crying again._

"Seriously?" The girl visibly relaxed - clearly she'd been troubled by this and looking for a way to speak up for some time. An odd ripple of turquoise light bloomed over the bridge of her nose and her bare forearms. "Heh, sorry," she said, apparently apologizing for the glow, leaving the spoon in the ice cream so as to rub at the back of her head in embarrassment. "I'm just - I'm so glad it's not just me."

"Don't be sorry!" He hissed loudly - almost snapped - angry with himself for his emotions getting in the way. He tried to reign himself in and temper the outburst with a smile that came out rather sickly. "It's - it's not acceptable for anybody to act like that. Not at all."

At least her instincts for retaliation were spot-on, though he'd have gone straight past laxatives to arsenic. That was the difference between heroes and villains, he supposed. He moved past her to the bank of refrigerators, and opened the first, scanning for anything appealing. There, a juice box, that was a start, and it came with its own straw so he - oh. Flug blinked again. He didn't need to worry about his bag now. Right.

"Whoa, I... I'm glad I said." The girl closed the carton of ice cream and hopped off the counter with the spoon now upside down in her mouth. Flug wondered if he'd come on too strong, but she continued as she put the half-eaten ice cream back in a freezer. "You gonna say anything to Instructor Y?"

"I might," Flug lied. "I'll definitely address the matter with _Dick_." Not a lie, if you counted violence as communication, and he'd no reason to hide his distaste for the person attached to the name. He closed the refrigerator he'd been searching, only to find the young woman standing next to him.

"Lean Cuisines are in this freezer," she said, her temples and the base of her throat blooming in throbs of an intense blue. With her foot, she nudged the bottom door of the bisected refrigerator between them.

"Right, thanks," Flug said, crouching to check.

"Jeanne?"

It took Flug a moment too long to look up. "Yeah?"

The girl gave a half-smile. "How are you holding up? After... what happened."

"I'm fine," Flug said too quickly, but caught himself. He lowered his head and looked back to the contents of the freezer. "It's..." Well, honesty, more or less, seemed to work with this girl. "It's an... adjustment." He pulled out a pasta Alfredo frozen dinner.

"Yeah." The girl lay her used spoon in a sink, gently so that it didn't clatter and disrupt the generally low tones in which they spoke. "I didn't know them real well. Like, Instructor Y kept putting me in classes and stuff with Copper but we never really talked, since he's so much younger than me. _Was_ so much younger. And I never _talked_ with them when we were sent out on missions. But it's always rough when somebody..." She shrugged, evidently seeing no reason to dance around it. "Dies."

"Mm." Flug didn't even give the instructions a glance before starting the dinner in the microwave.

"Even if it's a villain."

Flug's shoulders stiffened.

"I mean, robots are one thing, but I never saw Livewire actually go for the kill like that. It's kinda creepy to see that from somebody you had breakfast with."

"Uh... yeah." Flug couldn't relate. Everyone he had breakfast with at this point had a nonzero number of kills to their name. Very, very nonzero. He stared hard at the frozen dinner spinning in the microwave, rather than risk looking at her.

"Oh no, sorry!" She exclaimed in a flash of green glow. "You were patched in so you would've felt exactly what they - man I'm an idiot. You'd get what happened way better than me; what am I even talking about."

He couldn't remember what she was describing. Livewire must have been the hero that killed him, he supposed. Probably it was better that he didn't recall the specifics. People generally weren't made to deal with remembering their own gruesome deaths.

He frowned. The microwave shut off with a _ding_.

"I'm sorry. I was pretty freaked when you um. Fainted," the girl went on. "I guess - I guess being in somebody's head when they die is kind of... traumatic."

"I wouldn't know," Flug mumbled as he pulled the dinner out of the microwave, before he caught himself. "I mean. I don't remember."

"Oh!" She seemed... relieved, somehow. "Amnesia! Seems like somebody's got that every week around here."

*Well, that certainly explains a lot about heroes," Flug muttered, covering it by pulling the crinkling seal off the dinner. He coughed. "Yeah. I... I don't even remember much about myself, honestly. You're probably right, about... that... being traumatic."

"Well in that case," she said, rippling with blue light, "I'm Hana Fisher. Shadowshine." She extended her hand.

Flug eyed her hand suspiciously, then slowly reached to shake it. "I'm... Jeanne Gris, I suppose." These heroes were so _free_ with their legal names. It was disturbing.

Shadowshine laughed in teal ripples. "I guess so!" She released his hand and turned, waving at a drawer toward the end of the counter. "Silverware's in there. See you back here tomorrow morning? I'm thinking late breakfast. Like, ten?"

What in the world was she so cheerful about? "Uh... thanks. Yeah. Ten... sounds good." She wanted something. Something that had nothing to do with the disgusting way Dick treated her. He just wasn't sure what.

"See you then." She left with turquoise flowing in rings from the neck of her hoodie into her dark brown hairline. The door swung shut behind her.

She poked her head back through before Flug even had time to turn back to his food. "I love what you did with your hair, by the way!" And then she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \------------------  
> Goal: Hat Manor  
>  Part 1: List of Assets  
>  Heading A: Self  
>  Subsection i: brain (in use)  
>  Subsection ii: ~~body~~ disguise  
>  Heading B: Others  
>  Subsection i: Monobeam ( ~~NO~~ potentially manipulable)  
>  Subsection ii: Shadowshine (wants something)  
>  Heading C: Environment  
>  Subsection i: shelter (personal dorm room; defensible)  
>  Subsection ii: sustenance (need more coffee)  
>  Subsection iii: technology (charger but no cellphone?)  
>  Part 2: List of Obstacles  
>  Heading A: Self  
>  Subsection i: identity of disguise  
>  Subsection ii: PWP (Powers? What Powers?)  
>  Heading B: Others (all)  
>  Headine C: Environment  
>  Subsection i: Yolanda School security  
>  Subsection ii: Transportation  
>  Subsection iii: Hat Manor


	4. Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Several More Assets Are Discovered

[Music: [Break the Sky by The Hush Sound](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y1jPou1vxws) ]

There was no cryobed here, and Flug's dreaming made sure that he missed it. There was fire, and screaming, some of which was his own.

In one dream, he was falling toward Hat Manor. Black Hat was standing on the roof, casually leaning on his cane with both hands, grinning up at Flug, entirely meeting his rapidly approaching gaze. Then his jagged mouth opened wide...

There were metal walls pressing the air out of him, then tearing into him.

He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, and Black Hat was standing over him, watching. His expression was neither disdain nor disgust; there was no tug at the muscles above his lip, no curl at the edge of his mouth. Flug recognized the way his hand twitched.

Flug wanted to scream apologies until that expression went away, but he hadn't the breath. He could only reach and cough out desperation and try to change what he couldn't.

In trying to sleep from three in the morning to nine, he woke five times, once on the hardwood floor with his arms desperately around his head. At least, at this point in his life, the fear and phantom pain dissipated readily upon waking, and he'd trained himself to recall little of his dreaming.

\----------------------

Breakfast was a much more terrifying prospect than sneaking down to find food in the middle of the night. If he hadn't agreed to go already, Flug wouldn't have bothered - he'd taken some energy bars from the kitchen the night before - but he wanted to maintain his disguise. It couldn't hurt to foster a relationship with a naive girl whom he could manipulate into helping him escape, either.

He considered changing clothes - that was something Jeanne might do, right? She was a teacher here, so she probably wouldn't wear sleep clothes all day like Dementia tried to. He couldn't find another long-sleeved tee in the dresser, though. Instead, he kept the tee, but swapped on jeans and a long open cardigan.

There, he looked like a teacher, right? Or at least a soccer mom. All right, it might not look the best, but at least it _felt_ better. It was as comfortable as he could make this body, though the tightness and lack of pockets in the jeans was aggravating. At least the sweater had pockets.

With students wandering about and sunlight barging into the building, rather than desaturating moonlight, the school seemed entirely different. There was noise and presence at every turn. By the time Flug made it to the cafeteria he was so nervous that it was impossible to not move furtively. Bad memories had him anxiously keeping close to the wall and trying to anticipate the next trash can over his head.

The cafeteria itself was worse; while the main breakfast rush had already passed, the ceiling was higher, and it amplified the noise of the students who were there. Aware that he'd garnered more than a few curious (at best) looks, Flug made for the kitchen at a brisk pace, refusing to look at the social nightmares lurking at the dining hall's tables.

The kitchen was completely different than it had been the night before - the doors were propped open, and employees wearing hair nets roamed about. No sign of Shadowshine, and for a moment Flug feared some kind of set-up, before he noticed a door labeled "staff" off to one side.

The much smaller dining area beyond that door was startlingly... normal. With cabinetry of wood rather than steel, and lower ceilings, it was clearly an older part of the building than the institutional dining hall and kitchen.

As Flug pushed the door open, he caught the tail end of someone speaking. "-And anyway, you're _still_ not supposed to be in here. It's staff only."

"Aw, c'mon, she's on the team, that totally counts," a woman said.

"That's differ-"

"Look, I ran into Jeanne and said I'd meet up with her - Oh hey here she is!" Shadowshine was leaning against the table, greeting with a wave that flickered a green and faded into cyan as Flug opened the door.

"Hi," he started quietly, but his hand hadn't even left the door before he was being hauled inside, thick arms suddenly around him. He squeaked and went rigid.

"Jeanne!" Monobeam almost shouted in his ear. "I was so worried, you must have been asleep by the time I got back to check on you!"

Flug recovered enough to twist and push away with all his might, which, surprisingly, seemed to amount to more than he was used to, in this body. "GETOFF!"

The arms abruptly loosened enough that he could wrench himself loose. There was a small, swift movement of Flug's right hand, but when he found himself freed, he quickly slipped that hand back into the cardigan's pocket.

"She has amnesia, Dick! God, you think she's ready for you to be all over her?!" There was a green-flaring hand on his arm, pulling him to put a little more distance between him and his aggressor. Shadowshine.

"This is what I'm talking about," Dick said with all the stern demeanor of an angry parent. "It's 'staff only' here because it's for adults. You're not old enough to understand."

"Oh now that's uncalled for," a man in the background said, but Shadowshine had let go of Flug, every bit of her visible skin pulsing in a bright, deep indigo that hurt to look at.

"I'm _twenty-two,_ Dick!"

Flug stared at her anyway. She was _what?!_

"Like I said -" Dick started, but suddenly snapped his attention to Flug. "My god, Jeanne, what have you done to your hair!"

Oh yeah, that. Flug blinked. "It's still in the trash can in my room. You can go get it and huff it all you want."

The couple sitting at the table - they were obviously a couple, from the way they were holding gloved hands - burst out laughing. "Burn!" the man shouted as he stood. He moved toward the door as Flug stepped aside, and put a hand on Dick's shoulder to guide him out of the way. "Told you she wouldn't put up with your crap forever. Come on, man."

"Well, you'll feel better later," Dick said, reaching to lay his hand on Flug's cheek. Flug jerked back, eyeing him warily, hand in his pocket again. Dick withdrew his offending hand, his mouth taking on an almost overtly angry set. "I'll see you, Jeanne."

After the door closed, there was a resounding silence in Monobeam's wake, which the woman at the table finally broke with a whistle. "Pfew! Well. That was creepy."

It was shockingly easy to make small talk with Shadowshine and the woman at the table, who went by Spalpeen. She and the other man that had left, Cardshark, were also part of the team overseen by Monobeam. "He really needs to get his head out of his ass," Spalpeen said over a cup of grapefruit segments. "He straight up complimented me on working to keep my girlish figure the other day. I just... man, have you seen me at a good greasy spoon? I just _like_ grapefruit."

Shadowshine nodded, pacing back and forth waving one of the toaster waffles she'd made for herself and Flug. "It's just - I don't know what's worse. The way he keeps acting like I haven't aged since I got here, or the way he keeps low-key perving on me when he makes such a big deal out of being Jeanne's fiancé."

Fiancé?! This was worse than Flug had thought. He sat at the table, hands tight around the biggest mug he'd been able to find in the cabinets, filled with half of the pot of coffee that he'd made while Shadowshine had gotten the waffles.

Spalpeen snickered. "Yeah, I thought she was gonna shank a bitch for a minute there."

"Oh yeah!" Shadowshine slid into the chair next to Flug's. "I saw that little knife you had up your sleeve."

Flug carefully tore a toaster waffle in half and dipped it in the coffee. "What knife."

"The one in your pocket," Spalpeen said in a sing-song.

They were both looking at him now, but they were both grinning, so presumably he wouldn't be in trouble from them, at least.

"How'd you get that past the metal detectors?" Shadowshine asked, leaning in.

There were metal detectors? Shit. They must've been camouflaged in the door frames. "Ceramic," he mumbled into the mug.

"Cera - wait a minute," Shadowshine rippled bright blue. "You totally took one of the paring knives from the kitchen last night, didn't you!"

Flug glanced between the women with the mug still at his mouth, before setting it down carefully. "...Maybe."

The other two laughed so hard that the table shook. Flug pulled a lopsided smile. He still didn't like being the center of attention, but this felt like strengthening his position. Gathering resources.

"God I don't know why I'm laughing," Spalpeen finally said, running a hand through her cropped red hair. "If Dick's wigging you out that much when your head's clear - thank you amnesia, for once - there is just something seriously wrong with him."

Nobody told Flug to put the knife back. Nobody was horrified. This was... better than expected, but a bit confusing. It had always been just him, when he'd been in school, even up through college. Nobody had ever taken his side or stood with him like this. He wondered if he'd just been seeking help from the wrong sectors, or if it really was just a little different here. Not better, just different from the other places he'd been.

Or maybe it was that he was different now.

Spalpeen finally sighed, getting up from the table and setting her dishes in the sink. "I said I'd go with Cardshark to represent the school at the Heroes' Gala in LA on Friday, so I gotta go get cleaned up and go into town to find a dress with coverage."

"Mm?" Flug noted the odd choice of words, but then glanced down at the woman's gloves. Ah, she must have a contact-based -

"Her power's to suck the energy out of people so crowds are a pain in the butt," Shadowshine supplied. "She got you good once a couple of years ago - I think that was the last time you had amnesia? Wait, no it wasn't..."

"Total accident," Spalpeen said quickly. "But yeah. Going out takes effort. Better than staying cooped up like I used to, though."

"Hey, maybe we can meet up," Shadowshine suggested. "I was gonna take Jeanne into town from here to hang out, see if anything gets her memory to kick in." She turned back to Flug. "I mean, if you want."

"That doesn't sound bad," he responded hopefully. Yes, becoming familiar with the transportation options here definitely didn't sound bad.

When they'd finished eating, Shadowshine took him back to the hallway, then took the corner that was labelled as leading to the "Roost". The garage, Flug supposed (though come to think of it, he thought he'd seen an arrow simply labeled "garage" the night before, pointing in another direction, hadn't he?). The hallway gently sloped downward, becoming a tunnel, burrowing into the hill at the back of the building. There were moving walkways - evidently the school was of a size to need quite a large parking facility.

The tunnel emptied out into another underground hallway. "C'mon," Shadowshine said with a flutter of cyan. "The monorail's this way. They just finished it a few months ago..."

A monorail. Flug's shoulders sagged. That was _significantly_ less useful as a means of escape.

He paused though, with Shadowshine tugging on his sleeve. The hallway was a T, and to the left was an arrow labeled "station", which was where the young woman was trying to lead him. But the arrow to the right was labeled "Roost".

"What's this way?" He asked, as a group of students passed them on their way to the station. A couple of them nodded to them in passing.

"The Roost, duh," Shadowshine shrugged. "C'mon, if we miss this train it'll be a half hour until -"

"What's the Roost?" Flug slowly let himself be pulled after her.

"The hangar?" Her tone rose at the end as though the statement were a question itself.

Flug stopped short, feeling as though he'd been struck by lightning. "The... _hangar?!_ "

He didn't wait for her response. He turned so fast that the soles of the old sneakers he was wearing squeaked loudly on the tiled floor. He tried very hard not to outright run down the tunnel to the left.

"Hey!" Shadowshine scrambled to turn and keep up. "Jeanne? What -"

"I just want to see something," Flug said quickly. A hangar. They had a hangar. This ridiculous ordeal could be over _today._

"We'll miss the train!"

"It can wait."

"You can't -" Shadowshine stumbled into him as he came up short in front of a security door. "You don't have -"

Flug glanced at the retinal scan lock, but didn't have to even begin to think of how to bypass it. It scanned him, popped up text acknowledging him as Jeanne Gris, and the lock buzzed open.

"Okay well I guess you do have access," Shadowshine finished, crowding in after him. "Jeanne, what are you..."

Flug walked out onto the floor of a massive underground hangar built into the ridge, doors at one end opened to runways outside. His knees were shaking, heart thumping, eyes wide. He hadn't a chance of wiping the grin from his face. There were small passenger jets, fighter jets, even a couple of prop engine puddlejumpers. But right there, right in the middle, was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen.

"A Blackbird," he breathed, and laughed a little too loudly. "Why the _hell_ do they have an _SR-71 Blackbird!_ "

"Okay Jeanne that's a great evil laugh you've got going on there, but can we go now?" Shadowshine tugged at his sleeve again. "I don't want to miss the train. _Or_ get run over here."

"Train!" Flug huffed, shaking his head. He turned just enough to see her, standing behind him and pulsing an even more greenish blue than before, over his shoulder.

"Wanna go for a joyride?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goal: Hat Manor  
>  Part 1: List of Assets  
>  Heading A: Self  
>  Subsection i: brain (in use)  
>  Subsection ii: ~~body~~ disguise  
>  Subsection iii: defense (knife)  
>  Heading B: Others  
>  Subsection i: Monobeam ( ~~NO~~ potentially manipulable)  
>  Subsection ii: Shadowshine (wants something)  
>  Heading C: Environment  
>  Subsection i: shelter (personal dorm room; defensible)  
>  Subsection ii: sustenance (need more coffee)  
>  Subsection iii: technology (charger but no cellphone?)  
>  Subsection iv: TRANSPORTATION


	5. I Can't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Plan A is Executed.

[Music: ~~[Bus to Beelzebub by Soul Coughing.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4uv9V_OSIu0)~~  
[The Wolves by Cyrus Reynolds](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vbh4Mfb1tgA)]

It was so easy to get in. _So easy._ The Blackbird was the Y-Men's primary emergency response vehicle, Shadowshine said, for any important situations, since it could get to anywhere in the world pretty quickly. It was also modded to hell - vertical take off/landing capability, redesigned for cargo/personnel rather than bombs or reconnaissance equipment, pressurized interior rather than requiring pressure suits. Even the piloting arrangement had been reconstructed, from having the pilot centered and surrounded by the necessary instrument panels with recon mounted behind, to an improbable side-by-side arrangement as in a commercial aircraft.

"I kind of want to keep it," Flug muttered to himself, running fingertips over the gauges that lined the redesigned cockpit. "The increased computerization simplifies the dash, that's more efficient but... yeah, still way behind our usual. It's like they built an electric grocery-getter out of a formula one body. Can't really call it an SR-71 any more. Why would you pressurize the whole thing instead of suits, that decreases - "

"You're talking to yourself a lot," Shadowshine sighed. Dim blue glow played over her skin. She was slouched in the secondary cockpit seat, chin in hand and elbow on knee, just watching. "You know you never fly this thing, right? You don't have a pilot license."

"What's your point."

"Okay, okay. It's just, when you said joyride half an hour ago I thought we were going to, like, jump in and drive it like we stole it. Because we did."

Flug was contorted upside-down in the pilot's seat, inspecting the wires behind a panel he'd removed from under the controls. "'Drive it like you stole it' would actually imply driving very carefully and safely so as to draw no attention to oneself. Unless you're Dem - uh, determined to get caught."

"It's a jet. It goes fast."

"This is not a _jet_ ," Flug bristled, face hidden and voice muffled by his position. "This is one of the greatest aircraft to have ever been designed. Even with the mods."

"It's a jet. Make it go."

"You are _disturbingly_ up for this."

Shadowshine snorted. "Someday, I am going to do something wild enough to get me expelled from this hellhole, and I'm really hoping this is it because it's spectacular." She leaned back with her hands smugly behind her head. "But if it's not, I can blame you."

Flug paused what he was doing, then nodded, though she could see neither action. "Solid plan." He frowned a little, again unseen, squinting at what seemed like a few dozen differently colored and patterned wires in the shadowed space. What he wouldn't give for his goggles right now. "Why are you here, if you don't want to be?"

Shadowshine huffed and straightened, folding her arms. Her skin glimmered green. "Remedial power usage. I can't legally graduate until my power _matures_." She twitched her fingers in air quotes around the distasteful word. "Seriously, I'm just bioluminescent. I really don't think that's going to develop into anything problematic."

 _Bunch of control freaks, that's heroes for you,_ Flug managed to not say aloud. "That's stupid."

"You could rig the paperwork. You could get me out."

"One way or another." Flug twisted and slid into the space between the leather seats in order to extricate himself, sitting up on his knees and re-positioning the glasses that had slid up to his hairline. "With amnesia though?"

"Okay, probably not. This is better." Shadowshine gave a rueful smile in a play of turquoise. "One way or another."

He settled into the seat and attempted to strap in. And then, annoyed and blushing, he undid the harness and had to spend several minutes adjusting it for height and length to fit properly over Gris' bust.

There. He sat back, hands in his lap, and closed his eyes, trying to calm the electric feeling in his chest. _Home in under two hours. Yes._ "Ready?"

"For the past forty-five minutes. Haven't you been listening?" Shadowshine shifted in her seat.

Flug's eyes snapped open and there was no hiding the smirk on his face as he reached for the throttle. "Go."

The hangar was suddenly filled with the roar of engines - nothing unusual, but unexpected. The ground crew scattered like frightened rabbits as the remote-controlled wedges at the Blackbird's wheels snapped flush with the floor, and the plane began to roll.

Flug flipped a toggle, silencing the wave of shocked chatter on the radio. "Okay. Glad you decided to come. This is easier with two people." He calmly swung the jet around to face the front of the hangar and began to taxi, picking up speed. "You see that little red button right there?"

"Um, Jeanne, they're -"

"Red. Button."

"They're closing the doors." Shadowshine flickered cyan that rapidly became a more greenish teal.

"Right there. On the stick."

She bloomed a moment of indigo and scowled at him. "Yes, fine, I see it. Do you see the hangar doors?"

The engine roar got even louder. Flug's smirk widened, heading for maniacal. "Push the button."

Shadowshine shrugged, glancing a little warily - that was not an expression she'd ever seen or expected to see on Jeanne's face - and did so. "Okay, sorry, I didn't know there was a remote -"

The hangar doors suddenly ceased to be a problem. 

"...Oh crap," she finished with a nervous wash of cyan as they rolled through wreckage and out under an overcast sky.

"Why are you surprised? I thought you'd been on missions."

"I'm always in the back seat!" She waved over her shoulder at the improbable passenger compartment behind them. "Way back there!"

"Red button's concussion missiles. Trigger's lasers." Flug glanced at her, openly grinning. "There'll be a quiz later." 

Shadowshine blazed green and shouted something, but it was lost in the scream of the engines as they took off.

"What was that?" Flug asked several minutes later. The Sierras were already streaking by as they headed east, the Yolanda School's northern California campus left behind.

"I said, they're going to come after us," she repeated, rigid in her seat, arms braced on the arm rest and side of the cockpit.

"Oh, that's no problem." Flug's grin had relaxed into a definitely cocky smile. "Now, if they call ahead and have somebody get in our way, that could be an issue. Except we can still outrun almost everything and they pretty much can't see us."

She nodded slowly, green becoming a little more blue. "Okay, yeah. Radar. That why you're flying so low? Because I just saw a mountain goat LOOKING DOWN AT ME."

"Not entirely. This is just fun." Flug twitched the stick just a little, sending them sideways between peaks as his would-be co-pilot shrieked.

"Seriously, you've never flown before, Jeanne! How are you -"

"Simulator," he shrugged. "Well, for an actual SR 71. This, well... meh. Nothing too different from anything else."

Shadowshine stared at him. "I take it back. This was a terrible idea."

Flug spared her a significant glance. "You want out?"

She looked out at the landscape speeding by. "No. But you're crazy."

"I apologize for not making that more clear earlier. It adversely influenced your ability to give informed consent, but I need an extra pair of hands. You can yell at me later if you don't like the outcome."

"Uh." She stared at him again. "O-okay?"

"Mm." Flug nodded in satisfaction. The minor guilt he felt over this rushed plan was vastly outweighed by his own needs, but it still felt better to have acknowledged that he'd effectively rigged her participation. That should help keep her from balking later on, too. Social interaction accomplished.

The break in conversation lasted long minutes. Shadowshine tried to ignore the lurch in her stomach with every maneuver, but the peaks suddenly dropped away as they shot out over the relentless _flat_ of Utah.

"Hopefully it hasn't been long enough for reinforcements to be called in," Flug said, gaze flicking north and south toward far-off unseen military installations. "The Y-Men will want to try to handle this on their own first."

Shadowshine glanced at him without saying anything.

If the silence grew uncomfortable, he didn't seem to notice, speeding into another run of mountains - the Rockies. Shadowshine was looking green in more ways than one, so Flug assumed that she might feel more like talking again when they leveled out over the plains.

"Jeanne?"

Or not. "Hm?" he responded after a long moment, eyes forward.

"You could've just mind-controlled me. You didn't need to, you know. Talk me into anything."

It was almost enough to derail Flug's attention. Jeanne Gris was one of the strongest ESPers on the planet. That meant that _he_ was currently one of the strongest ESPers on the planet.

Fuck. He could've just walked out of there and made nobody notice. He could've had them take him anywhere he wanted, for that matter.

Well, then he wouldn't currently have what was technically his second Blackbird, assuming his airplane collection hadn't already been destroyed in his absence. And it wouldn't help once he got to the Manor, either; telepaths didn't tend to function well around Black Hat. In fact, they tended to cease to function all together.

"I mean, you've done it before."

Flug scowled like he hadn't in at least twenty minutes, train of thought thoroughly derailed. _I am going to completely dismantle the entire Yolanda School, not to mention the Y-Men._

"Well, that wouldn't be any fun," he said brightly, offering her a smile, though it came out as more of a grimace. "Anyway, that... kind of thing... hasn't been working too well for me, with the memory loss." Which was also true, though he wasn't sure if he ought to have admitted to it. He hadn't thought to try, was more like it, and now wasn't the time.

"So... you really wanted _me_ along to help?"

"Absolutely," Flug answered instantly. Technically true, if nothing else.

A hesitant teal tremor glimmered across Shadowshine's face, before becoming a more clear blue. "Okay then."

"Okay?"

"I'm in. Just tell me what to do." She brightened again, in multiple senses. "But I reserve the right to yell at you."

"Right." Flug relaxed again. That was normal. "Okay." They cleared the last peaks and sped over lowering foothills and on over rolling plains, keeping low. Completely inconspicuous, if not for the death throes of the sound barrier in their wake, but soon, whether or not they were tracked wouldn't matter.

"You see that keyboard over there?" He nodded toward the device awkwardly set into the dash on her right. "I'm going to give you a set of coordinates to type in."

"Got it," she said, drawing the navigation computer keyboard into her lap. "Okay, go."

She typed in the numbers he dictated, then frowned as the computer brought up the result. "Um... why are we going to the middle of the Atlantic?"

Flug couldn't suppress a snicker. "No reason." He glanced at her. "Yet." He looked back at the immense prairie in front of them. "Wanna go faster?"

The reason came up a little less than forty minutes later.

 _ **"HAT FUCKING ISLAND?!"**_ Shadowshine was blazing intense indigo again, brightly enough to make it difficult to see in the cockpit. It was like trying to fly by blacklight.

"Okay, but hear me out." Flug took a deep breath, trying to think of how best to explain, while the blue-gray Atlantic flowed by beneath them. "...If you don't do it we're going to die."

"If I do it we're still going to die!"

" _Look,_ " Flug said as patiently as he could. Time was running out very quickly. "All you have to do is hit the button or pull the trigger when I say. I can't do it myself. The controls are completely separated and you sure can't do the flying."

"You could turn around!"

 _ **"NO."**_ Dammit, nothing was stopping Flug now. _Nothing._ Not when he was this close and this was so damned simple.

There was no sound but the thrum of the engines for a few minutes.

The indigo light resolved into an uncertain turquoise, then on into greener shades. There was a growing blur on the horizon by the time she reached up and took her controls.

"I'd feel a lot better about this if you _could_ puppet me," she said, both hands clamped around the stick, knuckles white.

"I'm not going to tell you what happened to the last telepath that tried anything within range of Hat Manor." Flug gritted his teeth and failed to pin down the thought fluttering at the edge of his mind - it wasn't as important as the present situaion. Nothing was. "Loosen your grip or you'll cramp and it'll cut into your reaction time." His eyes flicked back up to the island. He could make out the skyline, and then the threads of space between buildings that denoted unseen streets. And then the Manor. "Here it comes." He pulled back on the throttle, decelerating.

It was a hack, but with the VTOL thrusters, this Blackbird's maneuverability was actually pretty good. He pulled up to begin the descent spiral, eyes on the Manor.

The defense system activated; Hat Manor sprouted weaponry like a particularly sharp-thorned flower. The order of deployment alone told Flug which pattern the randomizer had selected - he'd have to remove it from rotation and create another when this was over. "On my mark. Three laser bursts. Three - Two -"

He barrel rolled; the missiles that had shot up at them streaked past and were caught in the lasers. "Good, two more – now!"

"This isn't so bad," Shadowshine breathed, pulling the trigger. The kraken mounted to one of the articulated cranes lost a tentacle that barely missed the plane as it fell.

"Shush. Trigger, trigger, button, trigger, button, trigger, trigger, button - three, two, button!"

The plane shook with concussion; Shadowshine screamed. "You didn't miss!" Flug yelled. "Trigger, button, button -"

The pattern brought them down across the roof so close that he could see the trap door that led inside. If he could jump out he'd be home, but not yet - it wasn't safe to land or eject until the defenses were down. Not unless Black Hat realized why an incoming plane would know the defense patterns. _Please be paying attention please be paying attention please just see -_

He wove around two sweeping blades and pulled up again, just barely missing the tail of his own plane, sticking out of the top story of the manor. One of the blades hacked the other off entirely.

Shadowshine shrieked again. "Are you _trying_ to crash!" 

"Worked last time!" Flug shouted back, pulling the plane up short so hard that they were nearly vertical so he could use the VTOL thrusters to bounce off of the giant saw blade and gain altitude again. "Okay, the reload will be done in nine - eight -"

Shadowshine wasn't moving. She was, in fact, just staring at him with her mouth hanging open.

...Shit. He quelled a nervous laugh. "...Sev...en...?"

"I KNEW IT!"

"SixFiveFour No time -" 

_"I FUCKING KNEW IT!"_

"BUTTON TRIGGER TRIGGER BUTTON DAMMIT!" 

The Blackbird climbed, dove, circled, climbed again, tying invisible knots that set the defenses on each other when the plane's own weaponry wasn't sufficient. Only the saw blade and two missile launchers were left when Flug caught movement on the roof of the Manor. He was about to let out a whoop of elation -

And choked. It wasn't Black Hat. It wasn't even 5.0.5. or Dementia.

It was someone in a lab coat, wearing a paper bag over their head, and aiming something hand-held. The figure was obscured in green light as the device fired.

Flug gave an unintelligible cry as he hauled off, almost entirely losing control of the Blackbird. The beam of green light just barely missed them as the plane rolled, then re-stabilized. With an explosive roar of engines, he peeled off, shooting straight through the city - away from the Manor.

Shadowshine was yelling at him, demanding to know what had happened, why had he _stopped_ after all that. Flug turned them sideways between buildings, the sonic booms in their wake tearing into the skyscrapers behind them. The debris would provide cover until they were out of range.

His own knuckles were white, grip inadvisably tight as he tried to keep his hands from shaking. His expression was frozen with horror. That was _his_ size manipulation ray. _His!_

Nobody was going to try to find him. Nobody even missed him. Not because he was dead, but because he wasn't.

He'd been right there on the roof, as though the entire incident in the factory hadn't happened. He'd been right there with his shrink ray aiming to catch an interesting Blackbird variant for his collection.

Or at least, someone had been there, being him. Pretending to be him with a notable degree of accuracy even at range.

And Flug didn't know what to do.

\--------------------------

Black Hat stood at his office window, a fracture in the pane of reality. He cast his impassive gaze over the scene. New jagged edges between skyscrapers. One of the hydraulic blade arms fallen into the housing development across the street. Wreckage and flames and convulsing undead kraken biomass on the lawn.

"Dr. Flug," he growled without looking at the trembling scientist that had immediately prostrated himself the moment he'd been dropped into the office.

_**"What. Was. That."** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-----------------
> 
> So of course no matter how much I researched, it's not until NOW, significantly after finishing the fic, that I find any reference to where Hat Island actually is (the Bermuda Triangle). But I'm not changing the whole danged chapter now. -_-; 
> 
> So, pick an excuse:  
> a.) IT'S AN AU  
> b.) IT MIGRATED NORTH FOR THE SEASON  
> c.) THE AUTHOR EVIDENTLY DID NOT RESEARCH HARD ENOUGH  
> d.) THIS OPTION INTENTIONALLY LEFT BLANK  
> e.) all of the above


	6. I Failed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which there are Further Executions

[Music: [Winter Bird by Aurora](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FYFNzSTVvJk) ]

Flug didn't really register Shadowshine's increasingly distressed cries. He didn't even notice when she poked at his arm, though she didn't dare jostle him too much, given that he was still the one flying the Blackbird. His teeth ground tight as he kept his eyes forward, a little too wide, barely blinking.

The moment they were over land - he didn't even care where; some thickly forested stretch of Maine, probably - her shouting turned to outright screams as he brought them down in a narrow iced-over riverbed. Hard.

He closed his eyes, taking his hands from the controls, and listened to the shriek of pines and ice and stone on the shell. He breathed deep through the repeated impacts and jolts. Count to four, hold seven, release eight.

It wasn't helping. His hands on his thighs were tight fists.

The right wing went first, tearing free on a rocky outcrop and sending them careening to the left opposite a curve of the river. The rocks tore into the fuselage with a blast of cold air and icy water; the tail bent and twisted away. The left wing snagged trees that splintered into it and finally dragged them to a halt.

Shadowshine had stopped screaming at some point, her feet drawn up onto the seat with her arms around her head, shimmering painful indigo again.

For a few moments there seemed to be nothing but blissful, still silence, before his hearing recovered enough to pick up the pings of cooling metal.

"Wha - what the fuck," Shadowshine croaked, shaking badly. The intensity of her luminescence decreased, draining through blue and on into a green that was tinged yellow. "What. THE. _FUCK!!_ " Her voice steadily rose as she uncurled, taking stock of herself and her improbably (to her mind) unscathed state. "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO!"

Flug's eyes snapped open, too wide, teeth still clenched and aching. He reached up and fumbled with the harness release, ignoring Shadowshine, until he managed to unlatch the straps and slide out. He made his way out of the wreckage without a word, stumbling out into the debris and foot-deep snow.

He picked up the nearest piece of tree limb small enough to wield, and, stumbling in the snow, struck a twisted panel of the shell as hard as he could. And again. And that compound-fracture structural beam, and that hanging conduit that snapped loose at one end and struck the hull with a clatter of wires and cables like bloodspatter and repeating sparks like arterial spray. And that hinged flap that was still dangling, that went flying off to hit another tree trunk with a ringing howl of pain. And that piece of the wing that was still attached, that clanged and dented until it dripped hydraulic fluid like a crushed skull.

And again, and again, until the branch splintered in his hands and he dropped to his knees, then keeled over in the snow. He didn't try to catch himself - just lay on his side, hitching breath fogging at his now-bleeding hands drawn up near his face. There were silent tears alternately burning and cooling on his skin in a way he hadn't been able to feel so clearly for years, before the past day.

It wasn't a sensation he'd cared to have back. He'd rather have his scars. His body. His _life_.

Silence again. He lay still long enough for the cold to begin to feel uncomfortable.

"Um... Dr. F-Flug?" Shadowshine hesitantly called from the fuselage.

More to deal with. "Mm."

"Are you done?"

He took a deep breath. "Very." In so many ways.

"Okay. So. Um..." He could hear her moving about, looking for the best route to the ground. "Oh shit that's sparking -"

"It's fine, I jettisoned all the major flammables." He sighed and rolled to his back; he was used to not being allowed any time to wallow, though that thought just sent yet another stab of homesickness through him. He stared up at pine branches and gray sky and falling snowflakes. Somehow the useless, comfortable sunglasses were still on his face. They were cool enough that it was taking a few moments for the snowflakes that landed on them to melt. "You know who I am," he grumbled. "You think I don't know how to crash a plane?"

"I think you don't know how to land a plane," she said, coming to stand over him. 

"You're walking away from it." His hand stuck up out of the snow to wave toward the wreck. "How many people get to say that."

"Well, technically a lot of the Y-Men. Somebody wrecks a Blackbird every year or so." Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself; they were dressed for northern California, not midwinter Maine. "Are you trying for hypothermia now or are you going to get up?"

"We're not going to be here long enough for hypothermia. Listen."

"What do you..." she trailed off, catching the dim but approaching thrum of helicopter blades. "Oh." She considered for a moment, then flopped into the snow next to him. "Gonna tell me what happened? Or did you just decide to abort and crash out of spite?"

Flug remained silent for a long minute, watching the snow. "Been replaced," he finally mumbled.

Shadowshine frowned and turned her head toward him, despite the fact that lying down like this, all she could see was a wall of snow. "Already? It's only been four days!"

Flug's brow furrowed. "Four?"

"You slept through three. It's Sunday."

"Huh." He folded his hands over his torso - being sprawled out was quickly getting much too cold and his fingers were now stinging-numb in addition to bleeding a little from cuts and splinters. The sounds of helicopters - more than one, and big - were getting ever closer. "That last shot - the green - that was one of my devices. Somebody that looked just like me fired it from the roof."

Shadowshine flickered blue-green. "Okay so... what are we thinking? Somebody mimicking you? I know of a couple of shape-shifters with the balls to try that."

 _We?_ "An imposter would be found out almost immediately." It was near-impossible to fool 5.0.5.'s nose, if nothing else. Or Dementia's. And obviously nobody could actually fool Black Hat. His boss would pretty much have to never have paid attention to him at all, ever, for that to work.

Flug shivered, not entirely because of the cold.

"What else could it be though?" Shadowshine waved her hands for emphasis where he could see them. "What if Lord Black Hat has somebody pretending to be you to hide that you died?"

"You're an optimist," Flug said flatly. "But I suppose..." He trailed off. The helicopters were quite close now. "Wait. Are you absolutely certain that I - that my body died?"

"I..." She trailed off. "Well, okay, no. It was a mess. I couldn't watch." She sat up. "Are you thinking Jeanne swapped with you...?"

"Maybe." He abruptly sat up, bringing one hand to his mouth in thought. "Dick said I'd been blown to bits so I'd discounted the possibility, but what if he was exaggerating?" He nodded to himself. If she'd been watching, it implied that the feed from Jeanne's psychic link was electronically recorded. "I need to see the footage."

"I'll take you," Shadowshine said firmly as a search-and-rescue helicopter came down into the riverbed a couple of hundred feet away. She raised her voice to be heard over the blades. "Listen, before they get here -"

"You'll what?" Flug frowned suspiciously at her.

"Later!" She got to her feet, offering him a hand. "Listen! Grief makes people do crazy things, okay?"

He ignored her hand as he got to his feet. He'd no idea what she meant by that, but there was no way to discuss it now.

Three uniformed men rounded the end of the wreckage, and seemed to nearly jump out of their skins upon seeing the two of them standing there, failing to be corpses. Flug glanced back at Shadowshine, then stepped toward their rescuers and the waiting helicopter.

Shadowshine made to follow, but paused when her foot came down on something hard in the patch of snow in which Flug had been lying. She looked down, then knelt to pick up the object - the little ceramic paring knife from the kitchen with its plastic sheath. It had come out of Flug's pocket when he'd fallen.

She tucked the knife into the top of her boot and followed.

\------------

There were metal walls pressing the air out of him. He wasn't alone, but everyone else was laughing, even the people who were there to get him out, dismantling the metal in echoing screams and impacts. The metal was tearing into him.

He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, and Black Hat was standing over him, watching...

Flug jolted awake and banged his head against the window in the back of the helicopter in which he'd fallen asleep. He rubbed at his head, scowling - he could walk away from a plane crash but hurt himself as a passenger in a perfectly untroubled aircraft. What the hell.

Shadowshine was next to him with her hand on his shoulder, having shaken him awake. "You were getting loud enough to hear," she shouted over the noise of the rotors. She was leaning in, but he could barely make out what she said - if she'd been able to hear him, he must have been close to screaming.

So he nodded, flashing a tight smile as she pulsed cyan and pulled back. He wondered what he'd been dreaming this time.

\------------

In a series of hops in helicopters and two lengthier flights in small aircraft, none of which afforded the opportunity to privately converse, they were returned to the Yolanda School. It was well after dark by the time they set foot on the tarmac in the cheery glow spilling from the ruined hangar doors. Several of the ground crew openly glared as they were led into the complex.

Instructor Y was waiting at the entrance from the hangar into the hallway. She appeared stern, with blonde hair in a tight bun, but other than that, her appearance was strangely forgettable. Average height, average build, average business attire in cosmic latte. Not the appearance one might expect, from another of the world's most powerful ESPers.

Not being able to remember a person's face the moment you looked away was actually pretty unnerving. Flug immediately concluded with absolute certainty that she was doing it on purpose.

"Jeanne, with me," the woman ordered, expecting to be followed as she proceeded toward the moving walkway.

Flug couldn't recall her voice a moment after she stopped speaking, and disliked her just a little more for what he could only assume were passive ESPer effects. He glanced back as he followed on the moving walkway. Shadowshine was trailing, between Marmot, who was closer but still a distance behind, and Dick, who brought up the rear. Shadowshine wasn't looking, watching the mural-covered walls roll by. Marmot returned Flug's gaze, disturbingly unreadable. Dick leaned over the rail of the walkway to try to make eye contact and Flug turned away instead.

He tried to focus - or rather, remain as unfocused as possible. He'd made an effort to learn to keep himself in the immediate _now_ to try to combat anxiety disorder during college, and had found that doing so was also a safeguard against telepathic scanning, to varying degrees of success. It might be useless against this particular telepath, but it couldn't hurt, given that it really was calming as well.

Instructor Y led him to her ground floor office and closed the door behind them. "Have a seat, Jeanne."

Flug obediently sat in front of the desk, mentally blowing the dust off the file of canned responses he'd memorized over his academic career. He hadn't had much call for such platitudes the past few years, largely because Black Hat did not _discuss_ issues; he only demanded their resolution. Which was really much more effective, so far as Flug was concerned.

Instructor Y calmly seated herself behind her desk, leaned forward on her elbows with clasped hands, and spoke quietly. "I'm sorry."

Every social alarm bell in Flug's head rang at once. Oh shit not this. Anything but this.

"I expected too much of you. If I had not had you connect to Livewire's team, you would not have suffered this trauma."

The "I blame myself" tactic. It made his skin crawl. It was so disingenuous, so condescending, so... it was just such a waste of time. It was hardly communication - it served the speaker, not the subject.

"Mm." With a noncommittal hum, he kept his eyes downcast, splinter-sore hands curled on his tight knees. He hoped that he didn't look too much like a rabbit in headlights. His mental file of canned responses had exploded and he couldn't find a single relevant card in the mess.

"I'm sorry that I was away and was unable to debrief you personally when you woke," the woman went on. "I trusted Richard to take care of you, but I realize that he can become... distracted." She sat back. "But I must admit, Jeanne, I am also disappointed in your actions."

Oh no not the "I'm disappointed" bit too. Flug kept his head bowed and said nothing. No matter what happened, he would never, ever be able to let Black Hat know how much he would rather be screamed at than go through this kind of torture. Terror was so much easier to weather than being an unwilling participant in someone else's self-righteous ego wanking.

"Specifically I disapprove of your involvement of Hana. I recognize the stabilizing influence of a familiar acquaintance when dealing with psychic trauma, but it doesn't do to waste resources, and it's an inappropriate time to become closer to anyone." She sighed. "But I can hardly expect you to make entirely rational decisions when burdened so much grief."

Flug suddenly understood Shadowshine's comment. She'd been handing him an excuse. "I - I'm sorry. It's been very difficult," he said tentatively, still not looking up.

"Of course it has," the woman said with condescending kindness. "And to have absorbed information from such a monstrous person in addition to our own friends! I can't imagine how much it must have hurt you to touch a twisted mind like _that._ "

Flug realized with shock that she was talking about _him._ And with some respect, no less. Things suddenly looked a little brighter. "It was absolutely terrible," he responded, trying his best to not sound cheerful.

"My poor girl," Instructor Y sighed. "But, what's done is done. I trust that any impulse for vengeance has played out?"

It struck Flug that she'd not used her telepathy on him at all - she was making just as many assumptions based on who he was supposed to be as anyone else. "I think so," he tried. "I - I think I just need more time to myself, to heal." Beginning to feel more confident, he finally hit upon one of his standard responses. "I'm sorry I let it get the better of me." He lifted his head, but still wouldn't look at her.

"That's all right, my dear." Instructor Y stood again, and stepped out from behind the desk. "Well, hardly all right at all. We shall have to divert funds to replace the Blackbird. At least the other project's complete now."

Other project? Flug wondered if she meant the monorail, from what Shadowshine had said, but Instructor Y did not elaborate.

"I'm very curious, however, Jeanne." She set a hand on Flug's uncomfortable shoulder. "Perhaps you could tell me... why did you break off your attack?"

Uh-oh. Flug swallowed, trying to buy time. "I... realized that it was a suicide mission," he tried. "I couldn't do that with Shadowshine there. She was afraid." Sort of. Instructor Y hadn't said anything yet, so he added a little more. "She... kind of saved my life, as it turns out." It wasn't true at all, really, but it sounded like the sort of thing heroes would go for.

For a moment he thought her hand would tighten, but she released him, standing back. "I'm so glad that you were able to regain your senses in time," she said warmly. "Now go get cleaned up, dear, you look a mess."

Phew. Well, he had wiped his hands on his shirt when they'd still been bleeding. And the small cuts had stopped oozing long ago - he'd refused any attention for them - but they did still need to be disinfected. Flug stood and nodded, still not quite ever making eye contact with the woman, and left the room.

He headed back to his - to Jeanne's room. The halls were mostly empty, given how late it was, but he was still a little surprised that nobody else tried to stop him, given what busybodies people seemed to be here.

He had to get out of here. He should have just walked the moment he'd had the chance. Now that chance was gone. He'd be checked in on and looked after, at least until they decided that Jeanne wasn't a danger to herself or anyone else any more.

A hot shower would help. He needed to clear his head. He reached the room, glancing inside as he opened the door, before entering - he'd had to leave it unlocked upon leaving, since he'd no key. But it seemed empty, and everything was turned off, even the air conditioner.

He flicked on the light and closed the door behind him, able to lock it from this side, and shed clothes on the way to the closed bathroom door. He'd left the bathrobe on the bed earlier, and picked it up to take with him to the bathroom, holding it to himself with one hand while reaching for the bath's doorknob.

The door opened before his hand touched the knob. 

"Jea-"

Flug shrieked, stumbled backward, and fell.

Simultaneously, Dick's happy cry was cut off as he made a choking noise in his throat and similarly collapsed. After a moment of convulsions, he fell mostly still, bloody froth spilling from his mouth. One leg twitched repeatedly and didn't stop.

Flug sat staring for a moment. "Well, shit," he said out loud.

Telekinesis seemed to be a thing now.


	7. I Don't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Several Y-Men are Dealt With, One Way or Another  
> (alternate summary: Team-Deconstructing Exercise)

[Music: [Spiderwebs by No Doubt](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UBVEie8bNdE) ]

Flug simply sat staring at the twitching corpse for a few minutes, heart thumping and breath shallow, until the movement slowed and he remembered what he was doing and, now, needed to be doing. What he wouldn't give for a scalpel and a drill at least, just to dig in and see what exactly he'd done. Something that had left a little of the brain stem still connected, obviously...

So. Telekinesis. Must've been the adrenaline that made the connection in his - what was _currently_ his brain. A short sharp shock, a greater shot of fear than he might normally have experienced due to his more vulnerable state, that unlocked... something. He couldn't remember what it had felt like, but perhaps that was part of it, that it was purely instinctual. He wasn't concerned that he might have hurt himself at all; this body had belonged to an adept in these skills.

He struggled to his feet and back into the clothing he'd just discarded, for lack of anything more quickly at hand. The thought that Dick had been in the bathroom, very likely _watching_ him through the keyhole... god, Flug felt nauseous. If the telekinesis _hadn't_ instinctively lashed out, he wouldn't have had much defense, if Dick had chosen to -

Not going there, he told himself, gritting his teeth. Eyes closed, breathe in, hold, release. His own past experiences had been miserable enough without adding present conjecture to the mix.

He checked the corpse for vitals - zip - and gave it a kick to the head for good measure, though that didn't amount to more than a little satisfaction, given that he was barefoot. Now what to do? He wouldn't be able to just leave the body where it was and escape the premises, now, not after the past day's failure. He'd have to do something with the body. And he did still need to wash, and didn't fancy doing so with this particular corpse present.

It took entirely too long to get the corpse dragged into the walk-in closet; this body was stronger than what he was used to, but not actually by that much. He tried not to knock over any of the stacks of boxes, but tripped as he tried to step over the corpse on his way out. He flailed and wound up tearing down a handful of the Protectorex superhero suits hung to the side - how long had Jeanne lived in this room, anyway? He recognized several styles from the past few decades. Several boxes fell, spilling pictures and memorabilia over the body, and Flug wondered if he could get away with claiming Dick had been hiding in the closet and died in the landslide. No, he'd need something to more definitely crush the skull...

There was a knock at the door.

"Fantastic," Flug muttered under his breath. "Just a minute," he called more loudly, stumbling out of the closet and shoving the door shut behind him. It took several tries to get Dick's feet crammed inside and get the door latched.

He dropped a towel on the smears of bloody froth on the floor and opened the door of the room with as much confidence as he could muster.

"Hey Jeanne," Spalpeen said, cheerily holding up a first-aid kit in both gloved hands. "Shadowshine said you'd need a little help with your hands?" Her voice rose at the end of the statement as though it were a question. "And Instructor Y said you were cleaning up, so I waited a bit..."

She took in Flug's rumpled appearance, complete with still-bloodstained shirt. "Huh. Well, can I come in?"

Jeanne Gris would say yes. Flug swallowed. "Yeah, I could - I could use the help."

"Here, have a seat. I won't keep you long," Spalpeen said, moving to the bed to sit on its edge while she opened the kit, swapping her more utilitarian gloves for latex disposables from the kit. Flug obediently sat, and offered his hands, palms up. He hadn't been willing to do more than wipe them down, during the trip back, and and they were oozing again from the work of moving the corpse. He didn't say anything.

He didn't have to. "You're a lot more messed up over all this than anybody thought, aren't you," Spalpeen said gently, taking one hand to inspect, then picking out a pair of tweezers from the kit to try to pull splinters. Her motions were practiced and confident.

If he didn't respond at all it would be suspicious, he decided. "I guess." A guarded answer but still an answer.

"I get it," she went on, with the kind of gentle voice used by nurses and psychologists. "We never lost a whole team like that before. I'd think Y would've kept a closer eye on you but she seems kind of out of it too. I'm not sorry I missed it." She moved to the other hand. "Property damage and revenge attacks won't make it better; you know that, right?"

Flug begged to differ, but Jeanne wouldn't. She'd be as messed up as supposed. "I know," he said quietly, as though ashamed. "It..." He couldn't resist. "It felt good, though."

Spalpeen snorted. "There's cheaper ways to blow off steam, hon." She poked at a particularly large splinter caught entirely beneath the skin. "The weird part is, you almost pulled it off."

Uh-oh. What would Jeanne say? Might she be rueful? "Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand-grenades."

Spalpeen raised an eyebrow. "Fair point. I couldn't figure out where you learned to fly all of a sudden, though."

Shit, here it comes. Flug tensed before he realized that with her holding his hand still, she'd be able to feel him.

"But then I did," Spalpeen went on; if she noticed anything she didn't say so, or she attributed the reaction to the way she was pressing his skin trying to work the splinter out. "Sometimes when I use my powers and drain people, I get... echoes. You must've absorbed from... well, more than just our team..."

She suddenly pinched and yanked the splinter; Flug yelped. "Sorry," Spalpeen said, smiling and holding up the shard. She set it aside and let go of his hand, reaching for the antiseptic wipes. "With your memory screwed up, I just wanted to make sure you know you're not alone, okay? I've been there. Completely lost myself for a while before. You can run stuff by me if you're not sure if it's really you or not - I might not know but it's better to talk about it, right? Identity's a fragile thing."

"Okay," Flug mumbled as she started in with disinfectant. It only stung a little.

Spalpeen nodded in satisfaction. "Anyway. I know you're not going to get the ear you need from _Dick_ no matter how much Instructor Y throws him at you," she added. "No offense but god, I just don't like that guy."

Flug was torn between agreement and nervous laughter, neither of which seemed appropriate. "I don't remember much of anything," he said truthfully. "You have a grudge?"

She snorted again. "He's a douche about my name. Acts like a kid in his first sex-ed class." She stuck out her tongue as she chucked the used antiseptic wipes into the trash can across the room. "It's from Gaelic. My family's Irish and I'm the last of the line so damned if I'm changing it. It'd disappoint my grandad."

Flug thought of the way Instructor Y called Shadowshine "Hana" even though that wasn't how Shadowshine had first introduced herself - never mind his own naming reasons. "Chosen names have more identity attached than given names."

"That's what I told him!" Spalpeen pulled an assortment of bandages from the kit. "The guy has no respect." She was quiet for a moment, wrapping the palms of his hands, and then began unwrapping band-aids. "Jeeze, you need three of these on every finger, almost. What were you doing, chopping trees with your bare hands?"

"I was upset," Flug said quietly, simply holding his hands steady. The faster this was done the faster he could get back to figuring out what to do with Dick's corpse.

"I can see that." She moved to the other hand, but paused. "Here I am talking names and you know what? We all just call you Jeanne because Instructor Y does and she's known you the longest. What do _you_ want to be called?" She resumed working.

It slipped out, quietly, before he could catch himself. "Flugslys."

Spalpeen stopped again, lifting her head. Flug bit his lip and kept his head lowered.

She tugged at the edge of one of the latex gloves, pulling it from her hand with a snap. Flug tensed -

\- But stopped himself before flinging himself backward. It wasn't an attack. Spalpeen had finished and was putting her usual gloves back on. "Don't lose yourself," she said gently, laying her newly re-gloved hand on his upper arm. "It gets better."

Either she was still assuming that Jeanne was suffering a psychic trauma, or she was unconcerned about his actual identity. Most likely the former, but it was a relief regardless.

He glanced down at her hand as she drew it away "You can't... touch, directly. You have that guy you're with but you -"

She stilled in re-packing the kit. "Yeah. I can't. And yeah, it's rough." She took a deep breath and continued, obviously trying to dull the sharpening of her voice. "Now don't get into feeling sorry for us, okay? I keep having to tell everybody that. Cardshark's totally free to go if he wants, he just... keeps courting like he can get somewhere."

"No, what I mean is," Flug corrected as he straightened up. "You still say it gets better. Even with what you're stuck with."

She frowned. "What are you -"

"So you're not getting where you want to go with him."

Spalpeen's face was starting to match her hair. "Excuse _you_. You just acknowledged we can't -"

He got to his feet. "I'm gonna give you some websites to look up. Terms to search..." He pulled a pen and a piece of paper from the desk's drawer and started scribbling as quickly as he could, though he made the effort to keep it legible. "Seriously. You have options."

She stood with the snapped-shut first-aid kit, and hesitantly took the folded piece of paper that Flug handed her. She was frowning. "This isn't like you," she said, though part of that was that the handwriting was recognizably unlike any Jeanne had ever displayed before. "You usually just don't seem to care. You really did soak up some... stuff, didn't you."

He shrugged. "It's been a weird day."

She glanced at the folded paper, then back at Flug, then at the door. "Well. Get some rest, okay? I'll see you tomorrow."

Flug waited until the door closed after her before smirking. "Maybe." The rabbit hole he was pretty sure she'd fall down if she started the research he'd "innocently" suggested should keep her (and Cardshark) busy, and out of the way, for a long time.

He locked the door again, then leaned back against it. Now. About that corpse.

Several hours and multiple plans - all infeasible for one reason or another - later, Flug realized that he was drifting off to sleep. At that point, he decided that it'd be better to try and let this body rest. He hadn't the necessary caffeine to win this particular battle. The corpse could wait a day; he'd keep the air conditioner turned up.

He lay down on top of the covers, folded his bandaged hands over his stained shirt, and hoped that exhaustion would keep him from dreaming too much.

It didn't.

\------------

There were metal walls pressing the air out of him, then tearing into him.

He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, and Black Hat was standing over him, watching. His expression wasn't quite disappointment, though that was close. Flug recognized the way he stood more still than a human ever could.

Flug wanted to scream apologies until that expression went away, but he hadn't the breath. He could only reach and cough out desperation and try to change what he couldn't.

\--------------

He opened his eyes in the dark and breathed deeply. Cold air, the hum of the air conditioner, the room not his own. Things in his sleep he could only almost remember, things when he was awake that he didn't want to have to deal with. Flug sighed.

There was a short, light knock at the door. That had been what woke him. Flug sat up, then swung his feet out of the bed, cautiously approaching. He could see someone's shadow under the door.

"Psst! Hey!"

Shadowshine. He quickly undid the lock and opened the door, fully awake. "Get in here."

The girl slipped into the darkened room and waited, pulsing dim cyan. Flug re-locked the door, made sure the window's heavy curtains were drawn closed, and grabbed a towel and stuffed it into the crack between the bottom of the door and the floor, before flicking on the light on the bedside stand.

"It finally occurred to me that you weren't going to call me," she explained, waving her cellphone at him before stuffing it back into her hoodie pocket. "You wouldn't know which was my number."

"Worse than that. I don't have a phone," Flug pointed out, waving to the empty charger on the bedside stand. "What time -"

"Almost three in the morning," Shadowshine supplied.

"Right, good, there's still time tonight if we hurry."

Shadowshine flickered uncertainly. "Time for what?" she asked, watching him pace.

Yes. With two people, some of his plans' chances of success were much improved. Flug stopped and nodded, drawing himself upright.

"Dick is in the closet."

"Oooohkay," Shadowshine said slowly. "You know sometimes I kind of thought, but you know, not my business -"

"No, I mean, he's _in the closet._ " Flug stepped past her and opened the closet door, flicking on the light.

Green rippled across her face. "...well shit."

"That's what I said." They both stared at the corpse for a few long moments. "He was hiding in the bathroom. Surprised me. I think I gave him a telekinetic aneurysm."

"Oh, hey. Powers?" She brightened at him, literally.

"Nothing since. I think it was the adrenaline."

"Huh." She turned back to the corpse. "What are we going to do?"

"I have a plan," Flug said with a little pride, before he paused. "You keep saying 'we', though."

"Yeah about that." Shadowshine turned to him with turquoise sincerity. "You want out of here, I want out of here. Take me with you."

"No."

"I can help."

"No."

"Or I could turn you in."

"Could, but then I'd have two cadavers here for the price of one."

"Uh-uh," Shadowshine said with an infuriating amount of confidence considering what he'd just said. "You need the help. And if you want to see that footage you _definitely_ need me."

Crud. Flug scowled at her. "You have a point."

"Yes I do," she said in cheerful blue, but it faded into a blue-green. "Seriously, I want out of here. I've tried running away like twenty times, I swear. They're not letting me go for _anything._ You see how they work, now - they just come after you and bring you back and try to get you to Talk About Your Feelings while they don't listen at all because they know what's good for you and you don't."

"You have a point there, too." Flug thought of Instructor Y constructing her narrative around him and shuddered. "All right, deal."

"Great!" She beamed blue again.

"But just until we're safely away from here. I have some resources I can pull and tell you how to hide, but that's it."

"Way more than I was expecting," she said cheerfully. Damn, but his negotiating skills were bad.

"So. What's the immediate plan?" she continued.

"We get Dick downstairs, put him outside in the bushes under this window here, and I'll come back up and drop the air conditioner on his head."

"So like, he was what, trying to serenade you and you went to the window and..."

"Yeah. Accident brought on by his own idiocy."

"That sounds like him." Shadowshine looked at the corpse again. "I thought you'd want to, like, dissolve him in the tub."

"Well, _obviously_ that'd be first choice." Flug rolled his eyes. "But we don't have the chemicals. What's out in the hall closet isn't strong enough. Also I should shower at _some_ point."

"You could use the student shower on the third fl-"

"Absolutely not," Flug snapped in a tone that said too much about his experience with schools' communal showers. "I'll get the shoulders, you get the feet."

"Okay, fine," Shadowshine said with turquoise waves. "Moving a body _has_ to be enough to get me expelled if we get caught, right?"

It was a struggle, but a pattern was quickly established: Shadowshine would check ahead, then return to help carry for the next stretch. It was pure luck that it was clear each time and Shadowshine didn't have to distract anyone. The worst part was getting to the far end of the fourth floor hall so as to get into the access stairwell, rather than the main stairs.

"If we run into anybody," she panted, grinning as she came back up the next flight of stairs, "You're totally going to have to pretend to be making out with him."

"I don't think I can hold him upright on my own," Flug grunted.

"Floor works. Passionate teacher-on-teacher tangle." She picked up Dick's feet.

"I've had worse dates. One-two-three- _lift._ "

She waited until they were on the next landing before responding. "I don't know what's more unbelievable, that you're willing to go along with that plan, or -"

"Or that I've had dates," Flug finished, huffing a little. "You have no idea how much of my life is spent fielding this kind of conversation. I'm not actually into necrophilia, believe it or not."

"Or not."

"Mostly. Go check the door." The banter actually had him in a better mood, now. It distracted from the real problem with all of this: delay. A body found in his room would get him a ticket to prison, and things were complicated enough without having to break out of yet another supposedly inescapable facility. An accidentally killed paramour would get him treated gently, and trap him under kind but watchful eyes, but it did preserve what freedom he had here. He could easily play it to get him left alone for the most part. It just meant that he'd have to wait for things to die down, for Jeanne's friends and co-workers to look the other way again, before he could try to escape.

How long did it take a person to get over the horrible death of a lover? Generally speaking? Like, a week?

It was almost four AM by the time they got out to the heavily-shrubbed area between lawn and wall, below Jeanne's room's window (the only one with a currently-running air conditioner in that part of the building). They dragged Dick into position as best they could, based on Flug's estimate for the air conditioner's trajectory.

It wasn't until they stood up from the bushes that they heard, loud in the silence of pre-dawn night, the rustle of someone shifting a mylar bag.

There was no hiding. They both looked to the side.

The Lurid Marmot was leaning against the stone wall a few yards away, eating nacho chips and watching them.

"Uh," Flug said eloquently, unable to think of a single on-the-fly excuse.

"Heeey, Marmot," Shadowshine greeted with a completely fake innocent cheerfulness - but she nevertheless tried to sell it with the glow that rippled over her skin, cyan instead of indigo.

"Finally got tired of him, huh?" Marmot asked in a voice that was a high enough soprano to make Flug blink - it didn't synch with the hero's tough-guy demeanor (or barrel chest) at all.

"It was an accident." Shadowshine was clearly used to Marmot's voice but not to this kind of situation (though that wasn't surprising).

If he'd meant to stop them or sound an alarm, he'd have done it by now, Flug thought. There didn't seem to be much reason to lie. Much. "When I got back to my room he was hiding in my bathroom and surprised me. I, um. Had an unintentional telekinetic reaction."

"Pfft." Marmot seemed unconcerned. "I figured he'd pull some shit like that sometime." He rolled the bag of nacho chips shut, straightening up. "I knew you could take care of yourself."

"Uh. Thanks?" Flug gave a quirk of a smile and bashfully scratched at the back of his head. "I didn't."

"Amnesia, y'know?" Shadowshine put in.

"I heard." He stepped closer, looking from Dick's slack face - glassy eyes hidden under his smoked goggles - to the window above. "Air conditioner?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, that should do it. Old building, not like you could stop it with your powers on the fritz. Way better than trying to hide the body, that never works out." Marmot nodded. "I totally heard him out here trying to get your attention and saw everything. Terrible accident."

Flug's mind reeled. It wasn't that Marmot was agreeing that disruption of the crime scene was advantageous - heroes tended to be sticklers for rules right up until it was inconvenient. It was that he was volunteering to participate.

"I look forward to getting to know you again, Jeanne," he said, with an expression that made it clear that he considered knowing-in-the-Biblical-sense to be an option.

Ooooh no. That explained it. Great. "Likewise?" Flug lied tentatively.

He saw Shadowshine's green-blue ripple from the corner of his eye, particularly striking in the dark. "Okay well before you guys get too well acquainted here somebody should go actually drop the air conditioner."

"Yeah," Flug gave her a glance that he hoped didn't look too hopeful in Marmot's interpretation. "Yeah, could you help me with that?" He threaded his way out of the bushes and gave a tentative wave to Marmot, who nodded.

Flug managed to stave off much reaction until he and Shadowshine were around the corner of the building, at which point he let out a shaky breath. "Is there _anybody_ at this school that didn't want rid of that guy?"

"Not that I know of," Shadowshine said helpfully.

"And I take it Marmot -"

"Dick's self-proclaimed love-rival, yep."

"Shit."

Shadowshine offered him a cyan flicker. "Well, you could do a lot worse for a love interest. He actually listens, for one thing."

"Not my type." Flug scowled. They were talking in whispers, starting up the access stairwell again.

"You sure? I mean, he's helping you desecrate a corpse out of the blue."

"If I was into _every_ guy that helped me desecrate a corpse I'd have a much more complicated love life." He opened the door to the fourth floor hall and turned to motion her through. And scowled again. "What. What's with that expression."

Shadowshine shook her head, almost grimacing, eyebrows raised, with blue washing over the bridge of her nose and around her eyes. "Nothing," she said tightly, obviously on the verge of laughter.

" _What._ "

"So you _are_ into guys that help you desecrate corpses," She hissed, having trouble maintaining their whispering. The blue was blooming further over her skin.

Flug frowned so hard it hurt and dodged through the door. "You shush before I re-think our arrangement."

She couldn't resist. "Not that there's anything wrong with that. I mean, villain. I expect there's a lot of that sort of thing."

"One would think," Flug said in a tone that said he wished she'd stop thinking about it.

Shadowshine didn't get the blue glow that flowed over her skin under control until they were back in Jeanne's room - which they thoroughly inspected for intruders before sealing it up and opening the curtains.

Marmot was waiting below, eating nacho chips again. He waved.

"Best to get this over with," Flug said, inspecting along the edges of the wooden window frame. It wasn't painted shut, but it took both of them to push it up to clear the top of the air conditioner, and the noise seemed so loud and jarring that Shadowshine flickered indigo with it.

Flug pushed at the still-running air conditioner. "Ok, now we just have to..."

Nothing happened. He pushed harder. And harder. Shadowshine reached in to push as well. In another moment they were both shoving it with their shoulders. "Must be a support under it," Flug ground out through tight teeth, huffing. "I should've calcula-"

There was a sound of metal grating on stone and the unit gave way, dumping both of them roughly onto the sill. The window itself slid down, banging into Flug's shoulder, missing Shadowshine entirely because of their position. Flug managed to swallow the yelp of pain, but all the noise hid the loud _thunk_ of the air conditioner, power cord torn out, hitting the ground.

Shadowshine managed to get the window up enough for Flug to slide out from under it and they looked down. All they needed now was for the aim to be off.

The aim wasn't off. Dick's body, from the torso down, jutted out from underneath the fallen AC unit, bearing remarkable resemblance to the unluckiest resident of Pompeii. Marmot flashed them a thumbs-up.

Flug withdrew and unplugged the live cord (before he touched the end, which he was sure was inevitable otherwise). Shadowshine waved to Marmot and slid the window down - it stuck partway open, so she left it - and pulled the curtain. "Now what?"

"Now, I have to figure out who to report to. Pretty much immediately." He sighed. "This whole thing is a delay."

Shadowshine nodded. "I guess, yeah. Not enough time left tonight to check the footage. Same time tomorrow night?"

"Try earlier. I want plenty of time to deal with anything else that goes wrong." 

She glanced at the window with a ripple of green that faded to cyan. "What else _can_ go wrong."

"Never, ever ask that." Flug glanced down at his aching shoulder - some splinter or nail had caught him, tearing through cardigan and shirt beneath, and drawn a little blood. He'd just have to hope that Jeanne was up to date on her shots. "Going to need a first aid kit of my very own here at this rate. Gotta re-bandage my hands already."

Shadowshine nodded. "Can always say you tried to reach for the air conditioner when it started to go."

"That works." He got to his feet. "You should get out of here before somebody shows up about the noise. And I should go... find help."

"Go wander the first floor in shock," she suggested. "Marmot has your back. He'd have done it all himself if Jeanne had ever said the word."

Flug shuddered, but then nodded - he could use that. And, honestly, he could appreciate that kind of loyalty, too. He just didn't want it applied to _him._ He'd no practice in dealing with it. "Glad to see that you can lie, with the bio-luminescence, by the way," he added, referring to her greeting of Marmot.

"Yeah, keep that to yourself." A green wave slid over her face, but he couldn't be sure how sincere it was, given that she was grinning. "Thanks for showing me a good time." 

"Don't push it."

Still. She seemed more inclined to rise to the occasion than not, and had no more love of the Yolanda School than he did. And seemed as desperate to leave as he was, given how she'd latched on to him. And was on the whole more respectful of him than he was used to, teasing aside. "See you tomorrow night."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you don't know, [The unluckiest resident of Pompeii](https://imgur.com/gallery/AwqC4uJ).
> 
> X-Men is a notable franchise because of the characters having personal problems to work through (this was ground-breaking, when it first came out). That's great, but sometimes those problems are pretty over-the-top. A _lot_ of the time, in my experience.


	8. Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Much is Revealed in the Mourning

[ Music: [In the House - In a Heartbeat by John Murphy (from the 28 Days Later soundtrack) ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aF10I72tsio) ]

There were metal walls pressing the air out of him, then tearing into him, and he wasn't even himself.

He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, and Black Hat was standing over him, watching. His mouth was drawn thin and tight, eye narrowed. Flug recognized the way he stood more still than a human ever could, and the way his hand twitched, and the way the slight, calculated tilt of his head; the brim of his hat shadowed his face from anyone else's perspective. 

He looked tired.

Flug wanted to scream apologies until that expression went away, but he hadn't the breath. He could only reach and cough out desperation and try to change what he couldn't.

\---------------------

Expressionless, Flug opened his eyes, sat up, and swung his legs out of the bed. He fumbled with the light on the bedside stand - he still wasn't familiar enough with Jeanne's room to not stumble into furniture in the dark - and made his way to the bathroom, where he splashed a little water in his face and avoided looking in the mirror.

He'd spent the entire day in the company of strangers, and that alone would have made it exhausting. Having to tell the story over and over hadn't made it any better. He'd - Jeanne had woken up to the sound of something striking the window, had gone to look, and had seen Di- uh, Richard waving happily from below. Not remembering that it would likely be unsafe (because of the amnesia), Jeanne had opened the window, bumping the air conditioning unit in the process. Unable to telekinetically stop it, Jeanne had lunged, and was caught in the falling window as the unit fell and killed Richard, who had stepped directly below her window. The end.

Marmot had, true to his word, backed up the story, saying he'd been going for a late night snack when he saw Monobeam sneaking outside. He'd followed, curious, and had seen everything.

To her credit, Shadowshine had tried to look in on the proceedings with curious concern, only to be told by Instructor Y that it was a matter for Adults with which she needn't trouble herself. Shadowshine had bristled green until Cardshark had explained, at which point she'd gotten a good green glow going and left without more than a troubled glance back. Flug was impressed - and more than a little disgusted by the way she'd been dismissed. Instructor Y was a real piece of work.

He had gotten through hours of comforting words and waiting, right up until what had been at least his seventh cup of black coffee, when Marmot had commented that he'd had enough of the stuff to wake the dead. Between the lack of decent sleep, and caffeine in an unfamiliar body, and nervousness, Flug had started laughing, and had to cover for it as a hysterical breakdown, dramatically dropping the rest of the coffee and curling up on his seat with his arms around his head. Spalpeen had escorted him back to Jeanne's room, one solidly-clothed arm around his shoulders, throwing Marmot a dirty look as they'd left.

Once locked alone in the room again, he'd finally been able to wash. He'd found the trash can in the bathroom on its side, Jeanne's shorn hair spilling out of it. Dick really had actually come to get it. The thought made him feel sick to his stomach.

Washing had involved really facing some current truths he had been avoiding thinking about as hard as he could, and he'd wound up sitting under the spray in the claw-foot bathtub, hugging what were now _his_ knees and focusing on measured breathing for a good hour until the water had finally gotten too cold to stand.

Everything was wrong. His skin was smooth in places it shouldn't be and rounded in places it shouldn't be and his limbs were the wrong lengths and for all that he viewed his own body as a meat-mech that he piloted, this just wasn't his own body.

He'd gotten dressed again - a gray sweater and jeans this time - and lay down to wait for Shadowshine, and had slept, poorly as was usual without his cryobed.

He couldn't quite remember what he'd been dreaming, but it had left him feeling... hopeless, was the only way he could put it. He was wasting time. He needed to get out of here and get home. He'd almost done it; he just needed to try again and actually _get_ there and hope that the defense system picked one of the patterns he'd programmed and not something new. Then he could - he could -

What was the point, though, if he wasn't needed?

There was a knock on the door.

He picked up the faux-glasses from the nightstand, put them on, and opened the door.

\------------------

Shadowshine led Flug down to the ground floor, and then down the opposite way from the cafeteria, toward the pool and gymnasiums. The route involved passing Instructor Y's office - there was a light under the door, but the best they could do was move past as quietly as possible.

At the end of the hall past the pool was an emergency exit door that opened onto a landing, with a door to the outside (rigged to ring an alarm if opened) and a long stairway leading down. At the bottom of the stairway was another hall, directly below the one they'd just come down, leading to an even greater variety of training areas and hallways that extended well beyond the footprint of the above-ground building.

"The lab's down that way," Shadowshine said with a wave of her hand. "But I want to get this over with before you go making explosives or bioweapons or anything."

Over with...? "Work then play, got it," Flug said amiably, which at least got a blue-laced smirk out of Shadowshine. She really did seem rather subdued, compared to the previous day, though.

Instead, she opened a door to the left that led to the area beneath the swimming pool. The pool had underwater windows arranged along one side and the deep end, designed for training observation. The area was nicely tiled and lit by the pool's night-lights shining through. "I hang out down here sometimes," she explained. "Good place to hide when things get to be too much. Put some headphones on with whale song and pretend I'm a squid." She gave a flourish of turquoise and teal ripples. "Good for freaking out people in the pool too."

"We were going to review footage of the, ah. Incident," Flug reminded.

"We're getting there. I figured we should avoid the security cameras around the Wellspring."

Flug knew the Wellspring by reputation - it was the world's most effective electronic telepathy amplification device. It was what the Y-Men would have been using to observe the raid on the factory, obviously. It was also something he'd like to take apart and study. If he could amplify his device that recomposed matter based on the user's fears, for example, it could take out entire cities at a time, or send nightmares remotely...

Shadowshine opened a narrow cabinet at one end of the room and gestured, and every alarm bell in Flug's head went off. "Uh-uh."

"What?" She didn't understand the way he balked at all. "Seriously, come look."

Flug crept closer like the two-foot-wide closet was going to eat him, visions of being crammed into a locker rampaging through his head. When he got close enough to see inside, though, it wasn't a closet at all - it opened into a slightly wider, lightless hallway of unfinished cinderblock on one side and the outside of the pool's wall on the other.

"Literal secret passage," Shadowshine said proudly. "Well, almost secret. It's kind of popular with students. Don't look down; you don't want to see what you're stepping on." She stepped through into the dark, then began to glow a bright neutral cyan, hiking her sleeves up to expose more of her skin. "Come on. The door on the other end opens into the steam tunnels, and those'll get us under the Wellspring. Skips the usual security over there."

Flug swallowed. It wasn't as narrow as... as the locker he'd been stuffed in, where he hadn't even been able to breathe deeply enough to scream. They'd had to cut him out and even the workmen had thought it was _funny_.

Not that those lockers even existed any more. He'd seen to that.

He made a conscious effort to think of something else. Anything else. "What _am_ I stepping on?" he asked, following her in.

"Condoms, mostly."

There was just no winning here, was there. "Ew."

She reached back and grabbed the cuff of his sweater - almost taking his hand but polite enough to not. "Just come on."

The door on the far side of the pool opened into a damp brick and concrete tunnel, lit by caged, grimy overhead lightbulbs every hundred feet or so. Lining one side were thick metal pipes sealed with anti-rust temperature-resistant paint, with heat noticeably radiating from them. "Don't touch the steam pipes, they heat the whole campus," Shadowshine warned.

"I've met steam pipes before," Flug muttered. That had hurt, too, but he'd healed, and at least he had been able to follow them to safety when he'd gotten locked in the lightless steam tunnels under his college.

After a few turns and branches - with directions marked in chalk by the industrious students who favored the "secret" passages - their path through the long tunnels dead-ended at a brick face with a painted metal ladder set into it. Shadowshine pointed up, and started climbing, glancing down to make sure that he was following.

The trap door at the top was unexpectedly simple - no lock or catch, just a hinge. The room it opened into was a massive sphere, dimly lit for the night, lined with a linked array of devices that were all cabled to a computer mounted in the center of the sphere, at the end of a suspended walkway from the main door.

Shadowshine led the way again, up a series of hand-and-foot holds set into the curve of the wall, up to join the walkway next to the main door. "All you do to use it is have a seat and put the helmet on," she said. "You get the main seat in the middle there, and I get one of the peripheries by the monitor."

Flug eyed the setup as they approached. "Where are the records stored?" He frowned. He'd been expecting something like removable hard drives, at the very least - separately stored data, removed for safety, that could be accessed according to date, probably. Given the amount of data this device would be recording, the computer couldn't possibly hold more than one session at a time; it would require massive server rooms of which he'd so far seen no evidence, for the computer to simply record and store indefinitely on its own.

Shadowshine stopped in front of her chair. "That's me."

"What?"

"Me. I'm the storage." She took a deep breath. "It's cost- and space- prohibitive to do everything electronically, so the Wellspring takes whatever the using telepath experiences through their point of contact, and relays it to the team members in these chairs here. See?" She indicated the smaller headset hanging on the back of her seat as she lifted it. "For us it's like watching on the monitor there, but - well, you see. It's just a write-and-wipe board. Instructor Y put it there so we'd have a focus."

"So instead of converting telepathic signals to electronic recordings, it skips that step and writes the data into other living brains without having to convert it." Huh. That solved the telepathic-to-electronic problem, but was borderline unethical for heroes to have come up with, considering. Impressive.

"Yeah." Shadowshine seemed a bit subdued again. "Last Wednesday it was me and Marmot and Dick's turn."

"You don't want to do this," Flug realized.

"Well, no." She looked down uncomfortably, green striping across her face and forearms. "I mean Dick was one thing; you killed him pretty quick and he was already gone when I got there. But last week..." She took a deep breath. "It's different when you're getting relayed data right out of the heads of the people involved, you know? You get what they see and hear but also what they smell and taste and touch _and_ some of what they feel emotionally too. It can get pretty rough. Left me a mess for a day."

"And you don't want to... re-live dying."

"Nope." She sat down, headset in her hands, and spoke in a rush. "But I said I would so let's go." She set the equipment on her head.

"Good, because I wasn't going to let you off the hook," Flug said flatly, setting his own head gear on. "How do you -"

The device pinged in recognition, the sphere's low-power lights brightening for use. It felt like falling. Flug inhaled sharply and closed his eyes, but could see anyway. After a confusing moment of rush and colors, he was bodily standing once again in the BHO factory that he'd been inspecting on Wednesday.

"Welcome to my twisted mind," Shadowshine intoned dramatically. She was an invisible, all-encompassing disembodied voice, but clearly present.

"Very funny," Flug responded, and jumped. That was _his_ voice. He held up his hands - properly gloved - and looked down at his body - _his!_ \- and then reached to his face and found the familiar crinkling of paper under his fingers.

"Oh god that feels better," he muttered, finally properly relaxing for the first time in days.

"Your mental self-image is wearing the paper bag," Shadowshine said, and he could _feel_ her facepalming. "I just - it's your actual mental self-image. This is your innermost impression of yourself. And you're wearing a paper bag over your head."

"I'm surprised I'm displaying a physical form at all," he shrugged. Absolutely everything felt easier to deal with, all of a sudden; he could focus more easily. "But I'll take it. I'm comfortable where I am." He turned, taking in his surroundings - a 3D still frame, with sparks hanging in mid-air and smoke in solid pillars amongst the chaos the attacking heroes had caused. He seemed to be standing on the factory floor, at something approaching a midpoint of the three heroes' perspectives.

"Clearly, since you want so badly to go back," Shadowshine said, taking multiple meanings from what he'd said. "Which is weird according to everything we see and get told, by the way." She paused for a moment. "You sure you _want_ to go back? I mean you really seem to get the short end of the stick, in the videos they let us see. You could do better."

"Stop now." His sudden expression of annoyance and contempt was largely hidden, but nevertheless felt given the telepathic connection, and he spoke in a tone of absolute command so strong that he _flickered._ For just a moment, the simple lab coat and tee and jeans in which he envisioned his typical self darkened into something more uniform-like, navy blue, gold wings at his chest -

"Ow ow ow I'm sorry okay I'm sorry! Don't _do_ that!" Shadowshine yelped. "I can't - it _hurts_ when you do that!"

Flug's appearance abruptly reverted in confusion. "Do what?"

"I don't know, I just - I think my brain can't work like that!" Her voice was still pained, but less so. "You're not supposed to be _able_ to change like that!"

"I don't know what you're even talking about." 

"You're unstable!"

"Didn't I tell you that yesterday?" He'd been pretty direct, hadn't he? Why did communicating with people have to be so difficult?

"Well, I didn't think it'd be such a _thing._ " She was at a loss to explain just how disturbing it was to perceive someone's most basic inner self _shift_ like that. It wasn't anything she'd been trained to expect, when having her memory data-mined. "Crap, this isn't a good idea," she realized belatedly. "You're not actually a telepath even if Jeanne is. Er, was. You're not trained and you kind of - it's Jeanne's brain but you're kind of overwriting it and I think maybe the chemistry's off compared to how the Wellspring's set for her. It's not synching up with my brain like it should be. This could go _really_ badly."

"Well, we'd better hurry then, hadn't we," Flug said dryly, still looking around. There _he_ was, on the control mezzanine, though he didn't look nearly as commanding as he'd imagined he might at the time. He sighed - that was a disappointment. "Can you... fast-forward?" He asked, for lack of a better way to put it.

"Um. Where to?" She asked quietly. He didn't seem to be taking her concerns seriously at all.

"To the part where I die, obviously." He folded his arms impatiently. "So you can skip over... wossername, there, dying." He pointed at the buxom blonde suspended in mid-air over the scene, diving for the mezzanine.

"That was a great idea until you made me focus on it," Shadowshine said in defeat. The scene was suddenly a living, flashing chaos of motion and noise, until Flug found himself abruptly staring down at the blonde woman writhing on the floor. He blinked, then clasped his hands behind his back and leaned in to watch with a satisfied hum. The toxin he'd injected her with - one of his better formulations, he felt - ate through her nervous system and ruptured cell membranes at an impressive rate.

"I think I'm going to throw up," Shadowshine groaned.

"You're the one that stopped there." He shrugged again, straightening up as the body ceased its convulsions. "So, the Wellspring records the data whether you're consciously watching at the time or not?"

The scene froze again. "Yeah."

"Could you have stopped watching, just now?"

She was silent for a long moment. "Probably."

"I see," Flug said cheerfully, entirely too comfortable with how uncomfortable Shadowshine suddenly seemed. "Well, then. Proceed," he prompted after a moment.

There was another blur of motion and sound, and the scene suddenly fuzzed out with a roar. When vision properly returned a second later, it began again to play with a normal perception of time, and his position had altered again.

It was a pointless gesture, both because of the bag he was wearing and because of the environment being only a mental image, but Flug waved his hand in front of his mouth as though to clear air. "All right, now - I don't remember anything from that point. Where should I be looking?"

"Um." Shadowshine sounded even more uncomfortable. "Uh. Down."

Flug looked down. He appeared to be standing in his own exposed organs.

"...Oh." He took a step back, surveying the damage to his body. "No, no, that... that really does look fatal." He swallowed, shoulders sagging. "Really. Fatal." He told himself it was Shadowshine's squeamishness bleeding through, that was making him feel sick, but kept looking anyway. "I'm... I'm surprised there's still movement, actually." Was that - yes, that was definitely his own heart still trying to beat, and his lungs still trying to function. He giggled, rapidly approaching hysteria - he'd been right, when he thought that this was something people weren't meant to see, hadn't he. "I guess I'm tougher than I look."

"You are _so_ not okay."

" _What was your first clue?!_ " Flug shouted, whirling and looking up, as though he could see Shadowshine to glare at her. But it wasn't quite anger that was crashing in on him. There was too much despair and confusion and ache and -

Why was it getting dark?

"Oh no," Shadowshine squeaked. "Oh no oh no can we stop can we go now? You got your question answered, right?"

Flug caught sight of the hero that had caused the explosion, kneeling on the factory floor and clearly still alive. He hadn't seen the death of the third hero - that boy that melted things – either. And his body was still gasping. This wasn't done at all.

"I want to leave please, just, it's easy, you just want it to shut off and it'll shut off," Shadowshine said in a rapid stream. "But I can't do it, you have to stop it."

Flug most definitely did not want the Wellspring to shut off.

The room's shadows were spooling out of crevasses and from underneath and behind every piece of debris, converging at a single point in a very familiar way. Flug turned back toward his not-quite-corpse - and Black Hat was already standing there.

Flug went still, holding his breath, or imagined psychic impression of breath, suddenly caught up in an unexpected and perverse sense of calm.

Everything was still for a little too long, and he realized that the playback of the scene had stopped again. The memory of air tasted of smoke, and dust, and... fear. Synesthesia, Flug realized. He was _tasting_ what Shadowshine was feeling, now. That probably wasn't a good sign.

He didn't care. He stared at Black Hat, because he didn't really ever get to. Not like this.

Black Hat wasn't looking at him - or rather, wasn't looking at him as he was now. He was looking down at what had remained of him _then._

Realization hit him hard; Flug dropped to his knees. Lord Black Hat. Had come. Here. For _him._ He reached out, only to see that his dying self was also reaching out.

The taste of the air changed. There was something sweet to it, high and thin and delicious.

"Let it play," he whispered.

So she did.

When Black Hat took his head, the playback stopped again. Flug was still on his knees, watching helplessly. He raised his hand and waved a circle. "Let it -"

"I can't," Shadowshine whispered tightly. "The - the next part - He kind of tears open this portal and lets Livewire fall into it." The fear taste was getting stronger again. "I can't - don't make me see that again, it was bad enough the first time -"

"You don't have to watch, then. Let it play."

"I'm telling you, I c-"

"LET IT PLAY!" Flug shouted, jumping to his feet, his self-perception warping again - this time fully solidifying into an oddly authoritarian and richly decorated pilot's uniform. The taste-feeling of fear spiked with pain and Shadowshine shrieked.

Black Hat looked at Flug.

Flug stared back. He felt like he was breaking, ribs snapping outward, invisible claws tearing into the hollow at the base of his throat. And that was exactly as it should be. Everything was perfect.

The fear-taste became a thick, tongue-coating syrup. "HE CAN'T DO THAT!" Shadowshine howled. She might have been crying.

"You don't tell him what he can and can't do," Flug murmured with a ghost of a smile, still staring, beginning to go fuzzy around the edges.

"No, he _can't!_ It's a _memory_ and that _DIDN'T HAPPEN!_ " Crying or not, she was definitely panicking now. "It's one of us changing it! You have to stop it and get out, you have to, something's really really wrong!"

"I don't want to," he responded, still and quiet and smiling wider. As was Black Hat, all sharp wet edges. Flug was coming apart in liquid drops that flowed up into the choking terror that surrounded them, the scene breaking down into feathery dust and darkness that slithered and coiled. Black Hat extended one hand - the one not cradling Flug's severed head - inviting him to come along and become _everything._

Shadowshine was screaming. "Flug!"

He reached out.

_Dr. Flugslys._

That wasn't a voice that should be here. That was someone else.

Everything changed. The scene rattled painfully back into a coherent form that smelled and tasted only of industrial fire and smoke and dust - the memory's final still frame. Flug was paralyzed, standing with the ginger teenaged would-be hero, who was facing Black Hat. Black Hat was grinning at the boy in that gloriously disturbing way that didn't quite fit onto his chosen face, and was holding Flug's torn-open paper bag up near Copper's face, as though he were just about to slam it down over his head.

Only it wasn't quite... right. The torn edges seemed more like cloth than paper, and the inside of the top seemed a little too thick, and sported a trio of concentric rings of small, sharp, pale... teeth.

Flug screamed.

Everything shattered into a jumbled cacophony of noise that resolved itself into darkness, ringing, and pattering cold.

"Flug! Goddammit, get up, we're going to get caught!"

His eyes snapped open. He was Jeanne Gris again, lying on his back on the thinly carpeted floor of the Wellspring's control platform. Shadowshine, blazing indigo, had a hold of his arm and seemed to be trying to drag him toward the walkway to the door, and she was getting nowhere. Her nose was bleeding. There was a shrill fire-alarm bell ringing, and the sprinklers were on, pelting them with freezing cold water.

He sat straight up, screaming as he did so. " _WHY ARE THERE TEETH!_ "

He immediately wished that he hadn't sat up quite like that; his head hurt and spun dangerously and he almost dropped right back down. His nose was bleeding too.

"I don't know!" Shadowshine shouted back. "But we've got to get out of here, now!"

She was right. He wrenched his arm free, struggling to get to his feet. He failed, ending up on his knees again, squeezing his eyes shut and retching. His head was pounding like multiple migraines were trying to cram into it at the same time.

His hand landed on something on the floor that slid as he groped for something to help him stand. He grasped it before opening his eyes to see what it was. There was an arc of zig-zagging pulses of rainbow light curving along the right side of his field of vision, growing and taking it over.

He made out a violet and silver cellphone with a cracked screen in his hand. He squinted at it through the rainbow zig-zags and the drops of water that shrouded his glasses, uncomprehending, before it dawned on him. "Jeanne's phone -"

"Later!" Shadowshine grabbed the phone and jammed it into the pocket of her hoodie, then grabbed and pulled at the shoulder of his sweater. "Come on come on come on!"

Somehow they made it to the end of the walkway and down the hand-and-foot holds without falling, though neither were remotely steady on their feet. The main door of the Wellspring began to open just as Shadowshine lowered the trap door shut after them.

Flug lost his wet grip on the access ladder five feet from the bottom and landed hard on the dirty concrete. He groaned, curling on his side as Shadowshine finished descending, before he suddenly bolted into a crouch and vomited in a corner of the dim chamber.

Shadowshine staggered a ways down the corridor before gracelessly flopping down against the bricks opposite the steam pipes, and simply sat, breathing hard. She sniffled, then wiped at her nose with the sleeve of her hoodie, smearing blood. "I am _never_ doing that again."

Flug couldn't even stand up; he dragged his sprinkler-soaked sleeve over his nose and mouth, and crawled a little ways toward her before sitting against the wall as she was. "Me neither," he mumbled. Her nose was a mess but had stopped bleeding; his was still dripping.

"Also? You." Shadowshine said, pointing at him and gleaming teal that fluttered toward green. "You are _royally_ fucked up."

Flug narrowed his eyes and wished his multiple migraines would stop trying to have a rave in his frontal lobe. He couldn't even see for the rainbow aura - he hated migraine auras, they always looked to him like some ancient language he could _almost_ read - but he wasn't going to tell her that. "Seriously, did you just not believe me when I told you, or what?" He let himself slide over sideways until he was curled on the cement again, closing his eyes. The zig-zagging lights were still there.

Cool cement on his aching forehead, nice warm steam tunnel for the rest of him. "Just - just leave me here for a bit. I'll find my own way back."

"Oh no. You take a wrong turn down here and you come out on Mount Shasta. Nobody'll ever see you again." She glanced over at him and couldn't stop herself. "You don't want that. You want to be seen."

Flug opened one eye (even though he still couldn't see) and scowled in her direction.

Shadowshine frowned at what she'd just said. "Sorry. Side effects."

"Uh-huh." Flug lifted himself up onto his elbow and tried to glare at her. He could make out the green-blue light that played over her skin. "We're even."

"Huh?"

"I tricked you into being gunner on the Blackbird," he explained, "And you didn't tell me you were hooking me up into a brain-murder machine."

"I didn't..." Shadowshine wiped at her nose again, beginning to glow an even cyan. The smears of blood showed black against her skin. "Yeah. Yeah, okay, that's fair. I should've thought about that more. In my defense, Jeanne always made it look easy."

"I'm not her."

"I know. You talk to me, for one thing. Way better." She sniffed again. "Except when you're an asshole making me look at stuff I don't want to see."

"You said you could probably close your eyes and not have to watch the deaths."

"I wasn't talking about the deaths."

Flug gave no response, though his face felt particularly warm, so he pressed it to the concrete again as best he could. It smelled like nothing but damp concrete. No more blatant synesthesia, at least.

"You want to get out of here worse than I do," she said at length. "You have... you have something you want to get back to. An existence. I just want to get away. I don't know where I'm heading."

"If you're asking to come home with me, the answer is no," he mumbled into the concrete.

"After what you just - look, no offense, but no, absolutely not."

"Good."

"Not in a million years."

"Okay."

"You couldn't pay me to -"

"Don't push it." At least the migraine rave seemed to be winding down. The aura arc was shrinking.

He wasn't looking, but she half-smiled at him anyway. "I'll figure something out." She sighed. "...But we still don't know why you have a doppelgänger."

Flug's eyes snapped open and the color drained from his face again. "Why were there teeth!" he said a little too loudly.

Shadowshine hissed to shush him. "I'm gonna guess that wasn't something you knew about despite wearing the bag on your head so much that it's part of your self-image."

"My paper bags do not have teeth," he tried to explain.

"Paper bags tend to be de-fanged, yes." She eyed him a little warily, half-expecting a full-on breakdown, the way he was going.

"They're _paper bags._ "

"Okay."

He was silent for a moment. "My head hurts," he mumbled.

"How about this," she suggested. "You go back to your room -"

"Jeanne's room."

"My bad. Jeanne's room." She made an effort to keep her voice calm and even. "And you get cleaned up, and I'll stop by the kitchen and put Jeanne's phone here in a bag of rice to dry it out and drop it off. If you're passed out already I can slide it under the door."

"Okay."

"And I can bring you some painkillers."

"Yes please. Strong as you can get."

"And some toaster pastries or something. Those'll fit under the door." She realized that she was starving, all of a sudden. "I wonder if we crashed our blood sugar using that thing."

"Maybe. I don't know the metabolic requirements for sustained uncalibrated psychic electronics usage."

"Me neither. Again, my bad." Good, he was starting to sound a little better.

"Definitely bad." He tried to swallow, mouth dry, and coughed, but he could at least see again, the incomprehensible rainbow zig-zag writing having finally retreated. He was looking forward to drinking from the faucet the moment he got the chance. "Un-iced toaster pastry. The ones with icing make my teeth hurt." And god, did he not want any more hurt in his head right now.

"Sure."

"Shadowshine."

"Huh?" She looked over at him again.

"Paper bags don't have teeth."

"Yeah. I know."

"I want to go home."

The cyan glow she'd been keeping up for additional illumination shaded much closer to green. "Yeah. I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeling a lot like you're a ghost piloting a meat-mech is a thing to which I freely admit.
> 
> [Rainbow zig-zag auras](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OaMvHalPaFg) are a thing. PSA: If you ever get one, [don't panic](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8NsI7RaPkco).  
> (Grunkle Catspit, beloved beta-reader, says: Ten bucks says Black Hat occasionally writes dirty limericks in Flug's migraine auras in Deep Speech.)


	9. How

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Other Blackbirds and the Biology of Paper Bags are Investigated

[ Music: [Ruin by Gary Numan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lHomCiPFknY) ]

"Anyway, paper bags don't have teeth. Therefore, it's not a paper bag."

Flug and Shadowshine were sitting in the smaller, more comfortable staff kitchen off the main cafeteria kitchen. She'd come to Jeanne's room for him a little earlier than previous, both of them still disquieted from the night before. Flug had cleaned himself up, and Shadowshine re-did the bandages on his hands, and she weathered the start of his nervous tirade about the findings of the night before. He seemed better - he'd slept, he said, thanks to whatever knockout pills she'd slipped under his door the night before. As it turned out, Flug himself was debilitatingly immune to sleep medication, but Tylenol PM put Jeanne's body right to sleep. Pointing out that physical difference had been enough to convince Flug to come get something to eat. (He'd been left a tray of food outside his door, but refused to touch it - something about there being a sandwich.)

Shadowshine nodded, flickering cyan and eating ice cream from the carton again. Flug was seated across from her at the table. "Any idea what it _is_ , then?" she asked.

Flug waved his fork-full of ziti. "There's options. Hallucination from the Wellspring frying our brains, something Black Hat did on the fly, organic construct. I think the most likely possibility, though, is that it's some unknown living creature, mutated or not." He chewed the bite thoughtfully. "I doubt the boss did it; not flashy enough, and not much point, just then."

"Mm." Shadowshine tapped her empty spoon against her lips, turquoise rippling out from each brief contact. "I don't think it was hallucination. The stuff you were doing, when you... changed? That was physically painful. But that thing wasn't a source of pain in itself."

"And it's not something I know about already, so it's unlikely to be a construct." At her questioning glance, he shrugged. "BHO controls most of the facilities that could create something like that, and we've sold equipment to the ones we don't own. It'd be something we made, given where it - where it came from, in the - memory." The shock had died down but it was still difficult to talk about, given that it forced him to dwell on specific troubling circumstances. "So, probably some creature." _That I've been wearing. On my head. Since at least the last time I swapped bags but possibly longer. Potentially for years. Without knowing._

"And that's why you want to go to the library?”

“I want to look up campus schematics; they’ll be on file there. But yeah, I can use a computer there, see what I can find. Unless you’re volunteering yours, since Jeanne apparently didn’t have her own.”

Shadowshine gave a sheepish laugh. “Yeah um. About that.”

“You don’t have a computer either?”

She shrugged with rueful green. “I’m a ward of the school. They said it wasn’t in the budget.” She took another bite. “At least Spalpeen covers a cellphone for me.”

“Are you offering?”

“Not really. Data cap.”

“Dark ages,” Flug muttered. “Anyway, Jeanne’s phone's not charged yet, assuming the rice dried it sufficiently. Thank you for that by the way." He stabbed his fork into his microwaved pasta. "So, not much else to be done if we want to research tonight.” He took the bite and mumbled around it. "I can disable tracking and firewalls, that's no problem." He frowned. "You know, at your age they can't stop you from just leaving, can they?"

"Legal loophole for people with Powers. I can't leave until mine are matured and mastered." Shadowshine put the lid back on the ice cream and got up to put it away.

"You can _lie_ with bio-luminescence and that doesn't qualify as mastery?" Flug's lip curled in disgust.

"You should see me dj. But yeah, I don't know what else they're expecting me to do." She paused, and when he didn't respond, she added, "I don't actually dj. Pattern control is a thing, is what I mean."

"Right."

Since the Wellspring had caught fire the night before, security had tightened - more personnel, more frequent rounds - so simply leaving wasn't yet a possibility. Not this night, at least. Besides which, Flug insisted that he needed a little time to develop a plan. The further they could get before their absence was discovered, the better.

At least there was a rumor going around, deflecting scrutiny from Flug himself, that all the things that had happened in the past week were connected. Obviously, Dick had been angry at how Jeanne was being treated - forced to be psychically patched in to people dying, and then freaking out and making off with the Blackbird on top of that, instead of being cared for properly. So he'd tried to get her attention to get her to run away with him, all romantic-like, but neither of them had known her air conditioner would fall and kill him when she'd opened her window to talk with him. Clearly he'd also sabotaged the Wellspring, both to make them harder to track, and because it was the device responsible for her psychic injury - but the damage he'd done hadn't taken effect until the computer's regular diagnostic caused the short and caught fire.

Shadowshine was proud of herself for putting that one together. The teens and pre-teens that for some reason thought Dick and Jeanne had a wonderful relationship were eating it up, and basically shouting down any dissent they encountered.

So the agenda for this night - Tuesday night - was research. The increased patrolling made creeping through the halls a little more nerve-wracking than previous, but they'd already agreed upon an alibi built around apology, grief, ice cream, and in case of being caught on the way to or from the library, cute kitten videos online. Instructor Y had discouraged Jeanne from attempting to form a relationship with Shadowshine - a resource, Y had said, presumably in reference to her being one of the backup recorders for the Wellspring - but that didn't mean that Jeanne was going to listen, given her mental state.

"Grief will get you out of anything here," Shadowshine had explained. "I got out of my seventh grade genealogy report because I said it made me remember being in the car crash that killed my parents. The downside is, nobody takes you seriously when you're actually grieving. You get told it's the grief talking when you get upset about anything. But that just means _you're_ going to be forgiven pretty much anything right now.”

There was light showing under the door of Instructor Y’s office, as there had been the night before, as they crept toward the library. They were nearly past when there came the sound of something slamming loudly in the office. Shadowshine let slip a flash of indigo before quietly dashing to hide in the next doorway; Flug instinctively flattened himself against the wall next to the door.

“What do you mean sabbatical!” Y demanded behind the closed door. “I’ve been trying to reach you for hours! It’s two in the morning!”

She was on the phone - good, Flug thought; it would keep her from noticing them. He was about to move on when Y continued. “Of course I’ve been trying to get a hold of you! I got a warning from the school card about unexpected charges. When you said you and Cardshark had to go to San Francisco to shop I thought you meant for the Heroes’ Gala - why are you buying from fetish shops?”

Flug stilled and broke into a wide grin, listening. If he guessed right, she had to be talking to -

“Spalpeen, how do you expect me handle you _and_ Cardshark taking a year off?! With no warning! With Dick gone and Jeanne - All right, all right.” She gave a loud sigh. “You’re right, I understand, life is short, you two go enjoy yourselves.”

Silence, then, “ _No!_ I didn't expect you to take me up on it!" Another huff. "Fine! But who do you expect to attend the Gala then? I have my own plans... no, absolutely not! I’d have to -“

Something touched Flug’s arm and he jumped, turning to see Shadowshine tugging the sleeve of the purple sweater he’d dug out of Jeanne's dresser (uncomfortably tight for his tastes, but Shadowshine had said it looked fine).

He followed her a little ways down the hall before she whispered, “What was that about? Spalpeen and Cardshark taking a year off? Right now?”

“I slipped Spalpeen some information to help them, heh. Get together.” He was still grinning. “Kink forums, fetish sites - I figured it would be a distraction but it seems to have worked better than expected.”

“Oh my god!” Shadowshine literally went blue in the face, trying to hold in laughter. “I mean I always thought there had to be things they _could_ be doing - what did you -“

“She was adept wearing latex gloves when she patched me up,” he explained, holding up his bandaged hands. “Very sensitive. I gave her a site with latex bodysuits, among other things.”

Shadowshine snickered. “Yeah, they’ll be unavailable for a good while, given their level of UST.” She snorted again as they pushed the library doors open. “Who had you looking at sites like that? Because I _know_ -“

“Why do you assume -“ He stopped, looking toward the back of the room. It was a magnificent, unexpectedly large library, multiple open floors of dark wood and muffling carpet and branching halls lined with books trailing into the unlit space of a more recent expansion to the building. A series of long tables directly ahead held an array of desktop computers.

And at the far end of one table, one of the workstations was in use. The glow of a monitor turned away from the entrance cast ghostly light the freckled faces of a quartet of identical girls.

Another girl leaned out from where she was seated at the computer. Quintuplets. All with their tight black curls bound up in the same style of topknots, all with the same delicate-framed narrow glasses.

"What are you looking ah - Oh hey!" Shadowshine raised her arms wide, grinning blue again. “Ravens in the library! You were cloaked there, weren't you.”

“Are we -“ one started, the girl next to her continuing “in trouble,” with a third finishing, “Miss Gris?”

It took Flug a moment to realize that the teens - these were definitely teens, only 13 or 14 - meant him. “Um.” He snapped his mouth shut and muttered to Shadowshine, “Are they?”

“Not unless you really want, _Miss Gris,_ ” she responded cheerfully. She pointed. “Billie, Callie, Ellie, Fallah and Gally. Y had me tutoring them in trig last semester.”

“Hi,” the one at the keyboard said, while the other four bounced a response between them. “You - mixed us - up - again.”

“You _want_ people to get you mixed up," Shadowshine pointed out, blue glow still dancing over her face.

The four standing girls shrugged in unison, but they still seemed uncomfortable, their heads swiveling to stare at Flug.

What would Jeanne do. More or less. "Don't look at me," he started (with little hope that it might be taken literally). "I have amnesia and we're here for cute cat videos."

The Ravens still seemed uncertain, except for the one at the computer, who had returned to staring at the monitor and typing. "There, patched in, everything's ready." She leaned back and called over her shoulder. "Thanks, Haxxor!"

"No problem," an older boy's voice responded from somewhere back in the maze of shelves.

Flug jumped - just how many students were hiding out in here?! - but Shadowshine just called out, "Gag order, Haxxor." To Flug, she added, "He's a junior. Living computer interface that some villain ditched. Y has him waiting for maturation too." 

"Yeah, yeah," the voice called back. "Tellin' ya, that woman's up to something and it ain't keepin' the world safe from out-of-control Powers. You should see the books she's been pulling."

"Oh, leave the conspiracy theories online," Shadowshine groaned, sticking out her tongue in the unseen boy's direction. "Anyway, they're all cool, it's okay," Shadowshine went on. "They're here for rehab. Two more Ravens down in the central valley with Mags himself. The supermax Villains-and-Powers-specific site."

Flug blinked. "I recognize the words but not the order."

"Prison. With Magnetite. You know, pro-Powers supervillain? These guys are all here to learn how to not follow his footsteps."

Somewhere in the darkness, Haxxor let slip a derisive snort.

"Ah. Sorry, haven't been caught since that one was built and he was never a client." Flug noticeably relaxed - before he caught himself, and looked back at the Ravens again.

They were all staring at him.

"I mean," he started, before Shadowshine held up a hand.

"Seriously, it's okay. They're minor telepaths, but stronger the more of them are together. So they know by now."

"Actually," the girls began another volley. "No. Miss Gris - is still - shielded."

"Crap," Shadowshine said eloquently. The four standing Ravens all turned to stare at her instead.

"Shielded? What?" Flug frowned in confusion.

"Telepathy 101," the Raven at the computer said, sticking her head out from behind the monitor again. "You learn to keep other telepaths out. That'd be why you saw us when you walked in - anybody without psychic shields up wouldn't have. So even with amnesia you're doing it by instinc-"

"ARE YOU SERIOUS?!" The other four Ravens all squawked at once.

"Keep your voices down!" Shadowshine held up her hands. "Instructor Y's still in her office!"

"What? What'd I miss!" the Raven at the computer whined, looking up at her sisters, before suddenly whipping her head back around to look at Flug. She got as far as "HOT DA-" before two of the others covered her mouth with their hands. She stood up regardless, almost knocking her chair over as she pushed it back. All five of them glanced between Shadowshine and Flug.

And then all five of them bowed. "We're very pleased to meet you, sir!"

"Uh." Respect. Again. Flug smiled hesitantly, the flutter of pleasure dulled by the uneasy feeling that they'd inevitably ask him for something. "Likewise?"

"What'd _I_ miss," Haxxor's voice floated out of the dark again, sounding closer.

"Are we in trouble?" Another boy's voice - deeper, but still young - came out of the dark in a different direction.

Shadowshine's eyes narrowed as green flared on her skin. "Is that Virtus? Who else is in here!"

"We're not in trouble," three of the Ravens chorused, while the other two simultaneously added, "Nobody else."

"Except me," piped a high voice from above, where what looked like a shadowy ten-year-old was sitting upside-down and cross legged on the vaulted ceiling. They seemed to be reading a large, old book that filtered down dust and flakes of decaying leather as they turned a page.

"Except Blip."

"I'm surrounded by _children,_ " Flug muttered to himself, but Shadowshine heard him.

"You should see the school on a Friday night. It gets wild," she responded, missing that he might've been referring to her too.

"I don't want to be here that long," he reminded.

"Great! I like this timetable," she said, the glow across her cheeks still a good-humored blue. "Seriously though I swear I didn't know about the party in here, okay? It's not like I hang out with 'em."

There was the chime of a text message from Haxxor's direction, and the boy let out a whoop. "Are you guys serious! I haven't seen him since camp!"

Flug glared at the Raven sitting again at the computer - or, it might have been a different one, he couldn't tell - who looked back at him sheepishly, her fingers still hovering over the "enter" key from sending the text. "Um. I'm sorry, sir?"

There was a small, strange thrill to being apologized to, rather than apologizing, but it wasn't enough to improve Flug's mood at this point. He closed his eyes and pinched at the bridge of his nose, shifting the faux-glasses.

The Ravens drew a collective breath, but the computer in front of them chimed softly before they could say anything else. "There they are," the one at the computer announced cheerfully.

"Family video call," one of the others said, with another explaining, "Every Tuesday." They glanced up, the monitor light reflecting from their glasses, then looked back to the screen, speaking in unison. "Allie, Della! You won't believe who we just met! This week has been _amazing!_ "

Suddenly feeling tired, Flug leaned toward Shadowshine, who was motioning him to come sit at one of the two computers she was booting. "Family video call from a maximum security prison?"

"I'd guess Allie and Della worked up enough mind control to get a guard under their sway." She waved at the computer. "Do your thing, just make sure there's no record here, right? Meanwhile I'll use this one and click through every cat video I can find so there's evidence for our alibi, just in case."

"Mm." Flug slid into the uncomfortable wooden chair, cracking his band-aid covered knuckles - though to his consternation they didn't snap the way that he was used to, of course.

An hour later he'd made a temporary email account and sent a query to an acquaintance - the night librarian at a university where he'd done an exchange semester, renowned for their esoteric collection - regarding creatures that resembled paper bags and had at least three concentric rings of teeth. He also set up an interim bank account, surreptitiously accessed BHO petty cash and shuffled a significant sum into the new account, sent a different inquiry to his actual alma mater, and sent an email to his own BHO email account requesting to be contacted, though that would probably accomplish nothing. There was no guarantee that his doppelgänger could access his email, and even less that he'd respond even if the message was received. Finally, he brought up a window to search the school's online library catalog for blueprints. "Right," he said to Shadowshine, who had been next to him, without looking at her. "Drawers 17 and 18 in the map cabinets." He began to turn. "Where's the -"

It was no longer Shadowshine next to him. It was one of the Ravens, staring expectantly.

"Map cabinets?" He finished, resigned.

There was a flurry of movement as the girl wordlessly glanced across the room to one of her sisters, who subsequently turned to another, who in turn ran up the stairs to the balcony that encircled the room and disappeared into the dark. Evidently their ability to relay made up for their individually short psychic range.

"I read your email," Haxxor said cheerfully on the other side of him. "So, funny story -"

" _No,_ " Flug snapped. "Not funny. Not funny at all. You do _not-_ "

There was a crunching shriek of wood from somewhere on the balcony, and after a moment the Raven reappeared, struggling to carry a large, flat drawer of maps. She was followed down the stairs by another boy, this one tall and muscle-bound, who was carrying the other drawer.

Flug tried not to bristle too badly, and failed. "When do they teach subtlety here, senior year?" He glanced around the room as he stood to investigate the maps. "What happened to -"

"We're back," Shadowshine announced, flashing turquoise and quietly closing the door behind her and the Raven next to her, their arms loaded with bottles of soda.

"Warn me next time," Flug told her, keeping his arms in and trying to make himself as small as possible so as to avoid the teenagers that were lurking around him like wolves closing in on wounded prey. Or like ducklings around their mother. He wasn't sure which mental image was more disturbing.

Shadowshine sat a bottle down on the table in front of him as she passed. "Dude, they'll do anything you say. You're okay."

"I am absolutely _not_ okay." Flug grabbed the bottle like it had done something wrong, but it still took him three tries to get the cap off. He looked down at the maps, then up again - all seven of the teenagers were watching him from the far side of the table on which they'd set the map drawers. "Make them stop staring at me," he muttered to Shadowshine.

"Not their fault they're starstruck," she shrugged, making a shooing motion at them. "Come on, buzz off, guys. Not helping. You know he's a ball of stress."

"Oh. Thank you," Flug said, dripping sarcasm. He ran his hands over the first layer of diagrams in both drawers, then swept them aside to inspect the next layer.

There was an odd _tap_ sound on the table, then another; Flug caught the third instance. Something other than sarcasm dripped onto the surface. Dark. Blood?

Blood. His nose was bleeding again. He wasn't sure if the shock that ran through him at the realization was part of the problem or just a reaction, but instinctively he raised his hand to his face, pressing his nose to the cuff of Jeanne's sweater.

At a tug to his other arm, he turned, and wordlessly accepted the handful of tissues that Shadowshine offered. He folded a few together to replace the sweater sleeve at his nose, dabbing up the drops on the table with another.

"Why aren't you?" He asked, returning his attention to the blueprints and trying to ignore the nosebleed. He glanced at her once.

"What, starstruck?" Shadowshine flickered. "I dunno. I guess because I didn't know it was you when I _started_ talking with you..."

Flug's fingers slowed as he traced the route between a series of vents on the blueprints. _With._

"I mean, I did know _something_ was up," she quickly pointed out. "Jeanne never referred to Monobeam as Dick, and you were, frankly, a lot more friendly than she'd ever been. She'd never spared me two words." She shrugged, having returned to idly clicking through videos on her computer. "I'm still just really glad to be _listened_ to, y'know?"

"Mm." He purposely gave little indication that he heard her, but she only smirked, flashing a mock-offended green at him.

The way that Shadowshine was trapped and ignored resonated a little strongly with how he'd grown up - with the life he'd worked so hard to bury. It was interesting, though, that this was being done to her institutionally, rather than through the quagmire of emotional family bonds. _You'd think Instructor Y was a villain, with this level of manipulation._ He lifted the layer of blueprints, then the next, until he found a diagram of electrical conduits in the basement.

"...Of course there was the sudden change in fashion sense, too," she went on. "The hair and glasses. And the fact that you've obviously never worn a bra in your life and don't intend to start now."

"It felt weird," Flug grumbled, instinctively hunching his shoulders a little more. He'd have crossed his arms if it wouldn't have meant losing his place on the map.

"You're telling me. Sports bras are better though." She sipped from her bottle of soda. "I didn't really put together that it was _you,_ though. I wasn't kidding when I said grief makes people do weird stuff - Jeanne could've been drawing on anybody, or lots of anybodies, especially if she had amnesia. Again, happens a lot here."

"So what did it?" Flug asked, before it clicked. He could kick himself. "The Blackbird."

Shadowshine nodded, smirking again and shining teal. "I was like, _holy shit Jeanne, did you seriously soul-suck a villain?!_ "

"I can guarantee you that is technically _not_ what happened," Flug mumbled, hiding his face by flipping another of the oversized pieces of paper. "You know, I liked you better before the familiarity."

"So I'd kinda figured out by the time it got really obvious." She displayed a sympathetic green-blue. "Does it help if I tell you you're still a scary bastard?" She folded her arms, cyan rippling to green for a moment. "Because you totally are. Seriously."

"Thanks," he said dryly, before straightening and tapping on the paper under his fingers, last in the drawer. Bleeding stemmed, he shoved the tissues in his pocket so that he could pick up the map to inspect more easily. "There. Found it. Steam tunnels."

After following each mapped tunnel to its end, he tightly rolled the relevant map to take with him. The muscular boy - Virtus - and a couple of the Ravens took the map drawers back to their cabinet. Flug could only hope that no one noticed, any time soon, the damage to the wood where the drawers had been torn out.

"I just need a little longer," he said to Shadowshine, bringing up a browser window. He bit at his lower lip. There was something he had to know, he thought, searching on 'Tube for 5.0.5.'s latest video.

5.0.5. had indeed posted his scheduled reaction video on Saturday night. Flug found himself smiling a little in spite of himself as he watched - the bear seemed to be all right. It was a relief.

"Email from Miskatonic," Haxxor exclaimed from the darkened stacks, just before Flug's computer chimed softly.

"Get out of my email," Flug growled, pausing the video. He brought up the email and frowned, and as he continued reading, the scowl only deepened.

Before Shadowshine - looking up from her computer - could ask what was wrong, he closed the email and stood up, pacing back and forth. "Unbelievable," he snarled to himself. "How is this even possible!"

Shadowshine swallowed, flickering green as she herself stood. She hadn't been kidding about Flug being scary - for a moment there she could've sworn she saw him in that creepy pilot's uniform, paper bag and all. The others hung back, though two of the Ravens glanced at her curiously.

"What's up?" she asked anyway.

"They know exactly what text I should be looking for and they even _have_ it," he snapped, still pacing, hands in helpless fists. "Except that they _don't,_ because they just sent it out on inter-library loan _five days ago!_ "

"Hey!" Haxxor called.

"Well, where to?" Shadowshine leaned in next to him, trying to get his attention. "Look, we can go wherever it is, or we can find another copy -"

"Hey guys!" The boy seemed to be approaching from wherever he'd been in the labyrinth of books.

Flug raised his hands angrily, bandaged palms up, as though he could claw the information out of the air. "There might not _be_ another copy! It's a four hundred year old translation of a three thousand year old Olmec codex recounting a Mulian bestiary -"

There was a resounding _BOOM_ directly in front of Flug's feet; he shrieked and jumped, stumbling backward to the floor. Shadowshine startled back against the table behind her with a flash of indigo.

"Oh, good one, Blip!" Haxxor returned from within the stacks, backpack over his shoulder this time.

"Not good!" One of the Ravens hissed, with another adding, "Guards waking!" and the third and fourth, "Can't make them - sleep through that."

"Wrapping up," the fifth Raven said, clicking windows closed on their computer.

"Sorry!" the indistinct figure on the ceiling called, three stories above.

Flug scrambled over to the oversized, leather-flaking volume that had fallen to the floor. "You broke the spine!"

"Really sorry!" the figure squeaked timidly, floating down.

"Like I was trying to say earlier," Haxxor said, taking up station by the Ravens' computer. "Instructor Y's been getting some _weird_ books shipped in. This is just the one from this past week. We think she tore out some pages before she left it here to be shipped back, so Blip was reading it to see if we could figure out what was missing."

Flug looked up at the small figure as it touched down on the table, wondering at their language abilities, given that this book alone was in Latin. Up close, he couldn't tell if the figure was actually a child or simply some humanoid entity that appeared small. "Anything in here with three concentric rows of teeth? At least three? That looks like - _could_ look like a paper bag?"

He was suddenly very aware of every person in the room staring at him again.

The figure shook its head. "No paper bags. Around the torn pages there's stuff about a couple kinds of giant leeches, though, and they have mouths like that, don't they?"

"That's lampreys, Blip," Virtus said, hurrying out from the back of the library as Haxxor poked at the Ravens' computer to make sure it was clear. "Time?"

"Maybe ten minutes," one of the Ravens answered, the other four staring intently toward the doors. "Got security checking the far wing first."

Flug's shoulders sagged. All that, for nothing.

"There's a bit about your boss," Blip suggested as though it might cheer him, picking up the mouldering book and holding it out to him. "There was another book Y took pages from that had more about him, but I couldn't read that one. The words kept trying to get away. I think she sent it back already, anyway."

Shadowshine extended her hand to help Flug up, but he waved it off, and rejected the book as well. "It doesn't matter," he sighed. "Not what I'm looking for."

"Done?" Haxxor asked, reaching toward Flug's computer.

"Hang on," he said, pushing in the chair and bending to type. He felt very tired again, shoulders aching and fingers stinging. "I just need to log in, I want to comment..."

He trailed off. He'd been going to log into his 'Tube account to comment on 5.0.5.'s video; better late than never. But the third comment down was exactly what he'd been going to say - _You make such cute faces! :D_ \- posted from his own user ID, not long after the video had posted.

Flug straightened, staring hollow-eyed, then turning away. "Never mind. It doesn't matter."

Haxxor exchanged a concerned glance with Shadowshine, then tapped into the USB port, clearing the computer of evidence faster than Flug could have, and shutting it down.

"Everybody ready?" The Ravens started. "We'll make sure - nobody sees us."

One of the Ravens that hadn't spoken turned to Shadowshine. "Same time tomorrow night?"

Shadowshine glanced at Flug; he said nothing, arms tightly crossed and shoulders hunched, looking down with his face turned away. "Yeah," she responded with a green flicker, picking up his soda and map from the table, where he seemed to have forgotten them. "Tomorrow night."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \------------------------  
> Goal: Home  
>  Part 1: Assets  
>  Heading A: Self  
>  Subsection i: brain (in use)  
>  Subsection ii: ~~body~~ disguise  
>  Subsection iii: powers (telepathic shielding?)  
>  Heading B: Environment  
>  Subsection i: shelter (personal dorm room; defensible)  
>  Subsection ii: sustenance (stockpile energy bars; need more coffee)  
>  Subsection iii: LAB (mechanical/chemical resources)  
>  Subsection iv: potential escape route (steam tunnels)  
>  Subsection v: phone (charging)  
>  Part 2: Others  
>  Heading A: useful  
>  Subsection i: Shadowshine (under agreement)  
>  Subsection ii: Apparently I have a fan club now (manipulable)  
>  Heading B: to remove and/or avoid  
>  Subsection i: ~~Dick~~  
>  Subsection ii: ~~Spalpeen & Cardshark~~  
>  Subsection iii: Marmot  
>  Subsection iv: Instructor Y  
>  Subsection v: other students/staff  
>  Part 3: Problems  
>  Heading A: transportation  
>  Heading B: Yolanda School Security  
>  Subsection i: electronic (Haxxor)  
>  Subsection ii: organic (Ravens)  
>  Heading C: other law enforcement/military  
>  Heading D: Hat Manor  
>  Subsection i: defense protocols  
>  Subsection ii: Black Hat  
>  Subsection iii: Dementia  
>  Subsection iv: 5.0.5.  
>  Subsection v: me


	10. To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which An Accord Is Reached, Jeanne Has Her Say, and a Call is Answered

[ Music: [Clouds by Huma-Huma](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=99L3B1ze1fM)  
[Baby One More Time (Britney Spears), as covered by Dweezil and Ahmet Zappa](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=77kPi3VSsu4) ]

Flug flopped onto his back on Jeanne's bed, staring at the ceiling with a mixture of gloom and bitterness.

"Are you okay?"

He favored Shadowshine with a withering glance. "You keep asking things like that and I have yet to respond in the positive. Can't you make an inference here?" He returned to staring at the ceiling, thumping one hand on the pastel bedding.

She set the rolled map and his barely-touched soda on the desk. "You know when you get back to where you belong, you can just _ask_ what's up with the paper bag monster."

Flug gave a derisive bark of laughter. "There's so many things wrong with that statement that I don't know where to begin."

Shadowshine's eyes narrowed as she rippled green for a moment, but the annoyance didn't stick. She pushed her sleeves up to her elbows as though preparing to work. "Try."

"I don't think I -" He stopped, swallowed, and tried again. "I don't - I don't b-belong there."

She considered that for a moment, then shook her head. "Yeah, no, I'm calling bullshit. You don't belong anywhere else."

He turned his head to look at her again as she sat herself down in the desk chair, backward, folding her arms over the back. "I'm not sure that came out quite like you meant," he said dryly.

She stared right back at him, jaw set. "Tell me I'm wrong." She wanted out of this place badly enough to fight for it now, he realized - she needed his help and was bound and determined to get it. 

"They have another... me," he said, trying to make her understand, though fighting her obstinance made it a little easier to speak. "They're all okay. _I'm_ the one that's n-not. I'm - I'm redundant." _A copy. A ghost in someone else's head._

"Bullshit," she said again, straightening a little, cyan streaking down her face and forearms. "Even if you're some kind of duplicate, do you think your boss would turn you away when he could have _twice_ your brain absolutely devoted to him?"

Flug sat bolt upright. "You're right!"

Shadowshine grinned, the cyan darkening to blue.

"It's not like the contract wouldn't apply even if I've been dupli-" his eyes went wide with something like horror. " _What did you just say?!_ "

"Oh my god," She rolled her eyes. "You were in my head at the Wellspring with the feels just kind of rolling off you, never mind that you just about fried both our brains with Operation Notice Me Senpai. Freakin' _intense,_ man. How could I _not_ know."

"I hate you," Flug muttered, turning away and covering his face with his hands.

"Aw c'mon, your secret's safe with me. For however much that's worth." Her smile was wide but hardly unkind. "I mean, you know people make assumptions, right? At least I felt what you _actually_ -"

"I should kill you. That'd be safer." He drew his knees up to wrap his arms around and more effectively hide his face. 

"We have a deal, remember?"

"Villain, remember?"

"Eheh." She leaned back, her expression freezing and bio-luminescence turning green. "There, a _little_ scared of you, that better?"

He turned his head just enough to see her from the corner of one eye. "A bit," he said into his knees after a moment, before hiding his face again.

"Good." She gestured with one hand, the green fading back to turquoise. "It's not like you're some love-sick - well, like your... um. What is she. Lizard." 

"Dementia," Flug supplied. He'd never missed _home_ so much in his life. Dementia included.

"Look, what I'm saying is, I get it. I get that it's _different._ Totally not like... what she's got going on." When Flug still didn't relax or uncurl, she went on. "You're definitely not the only person that ever felt like that about somebody. God, you should see Instructor Y making eyes at Mr. Hallow." She rolled her eyes, then stilled with a sigh, expression darkening just a little.

"My parents felt like that. My parents that adopted me, I mean. They didn't have Powers but they worked under Magnetite - you know, big pro-Powers terrorist, used to have a legit political movement going on before he flipped out." Her shoulders sagged, more green light streaking across her skin. "They believed him so much about people with Powers deserving to inherit the Earth, that they adopted me." She huffed. "Bit of a disappointment in terms of Powers but I guess my real parents just didn't want a light-up baby."

Flug was silent for a few moments, curiosity eating away at his despair. He finally lifted his head a little and asked, "What happened to them?"

"Car crash. I think I mentioned before. Whatever. They were on the way to one of Magnetite's rallies and wrecked. I was eight. Asleep in the back seat, woke up with bang-crash-car-on-fire. They were _why_ Magnetite flipped and rampaged, Instructor Y said. The Y-Men were raiding that rally and Marmot saw me and got me out, and apparently Magnetite blamed them for not saving my parents too." She bit her lip, a recognizable tightness to her expression.

Flug nodded slowly, sitting upright enough to lean against the headboard. He could identify with being trapped in metal and fire, if nothing else.

"Marmot said he saw me glowing different than the rest of the fire. The _one time_ my Power's useful, and it's to get me rescued. I've been their little damsel in distress here ever since. I must've tried running away twenty times at this point and they always find me.

"But you're not going to let them find me again, right?" Sad, sallow green glowed on her features.

She had him, Flug realized. God damn it, she'd tricked him into paying attention to her talking, dragging him out of wallowing in his own misery. "That's the deal," he grumbled, and then coughed, his voice easing. "Nice. Very manipulative."

She brightened blue again. "Thanks."

\--------------

Flug should have slept, after Shadowshine left. She'd given him another dose of Tylenol PM, but he didn't take it, despite the allure of actual restful sleep. His mind was racing and he couldn't find it in himself to slow down.

Instead, he returned to what he'd been doing before she'd arrived: inspecting Jeanne's private possessions in the hopes of scavenging anything useful.

He'd started out innocently enough - he'd simply wanted to safely stash the papers and photos that had spilled when he'd crammed Dick's corpse into the closet. If anyone checked the room when he wasn't there, he didn't want the sudden disorganization to be suspicious. But then the things he'd been stuffing back into boxes had started to attract his attention.

It seemed like Jeanne had saved anything that might trigger a memory - not only photos but ticket stubs, playbills, particular receipts, candy wrappers, anything. It was a little disquieting to see that she'd been doing this for, going by one of the photos that included a very young Shadowshine, at least a decade if not more. And that was only one file box. There were at least a dozen more stacked in the closet.

So he'd started going through those as well. It only became more disturbing the further he dug in. He didn't even bother taking anything to the desk. He pulled the chain to turn on the bare lightbulb at the back of the closet, and sat on boxes in the smaller, more secure-feeling space, and went through other boxes and spread out what he found on every possible flat surface. He completely forgot his original goal of tidying.

Every box had photographs of Jeanne with her teammates, and while some of them changed, she and Dick, and Marmot when he appeared, did not. She'd looked like, at most, a thirty-year-old woman, for at least forty five years, if the dates on the accompanying materials were to be believed. It made sense, taking her collection of super suits into account, but it was nothing he'd expected.

When the cellphone on the bedside stand had finally chimed that it was fully charged, he startled at the sound - and then knocked over the stack of memorabilia he'd been looking at in his rush to grab the phone. He'd forgotten all about it.

It was a quarter after six in the morning, according to the phone. Flug tapped at it, expecting it to request a passcode.

It didn't. It belatedly occurred to him that for an ESPer in danger of amnesia at any given point, a phone with anything other than a fingerprint lock would be useless. This model of phone, however, was several years old, and didn't even have fingerprint capability.

His immediate instinct was to use it to finally call for help, but he hesitated. The BHO help line was right out - he didn't have the time to wait on hold - and the thought that Black Hat might actually deign to catch and answer his phone was mildly terrifying. Flug would never be able to make his case on a cold call.

That left Dementia, assuming her phone hadn't been destroyed again in his absence.

It would be mid-day already at Hat Manor. Honestly, though, he'd probably have an easier time if he could leave a message, anyway. That meant waiting. Ten or eleven at night should do. He sighed; at least he _had_ a cellphone now.

He was about to set the phone down again when he noticed a folder on its home screen, labelled simply "open me".

Curiosity won. Inside the folder were video files, organized by date, stretching back six years. Jeanne had been hanging on to this old cellphone for a long time.

Watching the video files she'd left herself - a diary, essentially, in case she lost her memory again, she said - was a strange experience. It wasn't only that he wasn't yet (and hopefully never would be) used to seeing her face as his own. Jeanne _looked_ different. Her expressions and the way she held herself were jarring, never mind her wide eyes and lack of glasses. It was a wonder he'd ever fooled anyone here, pretending to be her.

"I guess I lost my memory again, if I'm watching this. So, uh, hello, me! Welcome to my life."

She spent several of the videos talking about her teammates. The videos would have been an invaluable resource, if he'd had them from the start. At least Flug had met Shadowshine first.

"She says Richard's my fiancé. I don't know. I guess he's okay. I sure don't remember saying yes to him, obviously. But he's always here, and I matter a lot to him..."

"Honestly I like hanging out with Spalpeen a lot. She helped me dye my hair and we were talking about how she feels about - well, she said it couldn't go anywhere, so never mind..."

"Marmot's great." She laughed. "I have a hard time reading him - he says it's because he's got such a thick skull, but I think he's got something other than human in his ancestry, is all. We went to the carnival in town..."

" _She_ says I shouldn't bother talking to her, but Hana's a cute kid. It bugs me that she's sad or angry most of the time though. I guess she has her own friends her age..."

Another video had a lot of background noise - the sounds of a crowd, and music playing. Jeanne was wearing a sparkling white and lavender bodice, presumably the top of a gown. "I met Mr. Hallow!" She said excitedly, smiling like she couldn't stop. "I get it, why _she_ wants to be around him so much. It's like - it's like being _high._ " She laughed. "I don't even know if I've ever _been_ high. What am I even saying. He's - he's so _nice._ I know he's projecting a bit for the sake of us ESPers here but it's - it's like being outside on a perfect sunny day when absolutely nothing's wrong. _She_ even asked him to turn it down and he _apologized,_ can you believe it?" She laughed again. "He said it was lovely to see me again. I wish I could remember! How can you forget somebody like that?"

It didn't take long to realize that while Jeanne talked readily about her teammates by name - even their chosen names - she would never refer to Instructor Y by anything other than pronoun.

Then came a gap in the dates of the files. She'd lost her memory again, she said in the next one.

A few videos later, "She almost caught me," Jeanne said, looking a little spooked and frequently checking over her shoulder. "She's already threatened to take the phone. She says leaving myself messages will give me a warped view, since I've had paranoia in the past, so she wants me to rely on my friends to help me get my memory back. But I don't even remember why they're my friends..."

"I don't understand what I've done wrong. I think she's irritated because I don't remember conversations we had before I - well, before. She said she wondered if she should trust me. I don't want to see her unhappy - I'm trying my best."

In another video, she seemed confused, or at least concerned. "I've been looking through my closet. I think - I think I reset every few years or so? Do all ESPers lose their memories every so often like this? She says it's a work hazard, but admits I've had it happen more than others. I can't figure out _how_ I could be getting amnesia so much. I don't - I don't even know how old I am..."

A few videos after that, there was a very short entry. Jeanne looked like she'd been crying. "I love her, I don't know what I'd do without her, but I wish - I wish she didn't trust me."

There was another gap. She'd lost her memory again, she said in the next video after that.

Flug was sitting on the floor with his back against the desk, eating an energy bar for brunch, when he finally started the most recent video. He'd finished the soda some time ago, and had refilled the bottle with water, only to find it empty when he reached for it this time. He set it down without taking his eyes from the cracked screen balanced on his knees.

"I don't know what to do. I think she's - there's something really wrong. She said the incident that brought Hana here was an accident, but -" Jeanne swallowed, looking around her, but kept her voice low despite her obvious distress. "I was - things were getting intense with Richard after our date and I got into his head by accident. I couldn't help it. And there were blocks, everywhere, like - god I don't know how he's even functional, with so much locked up like that. Some telepath did that to him and I don't think - well I hope it wasn't me. And the biggest block was around when Hana came to the school. Sealed up tight like - like concrete."

There was a sound offscreen, and Jeanne looked away again. Flug realized that she wasn't simply disturbed; she was outright frightened.

"I - I thought I should talk to her. I trusted her. I didn't know..." Jeanne took a deep breath, trying to collect herself. "She's going after the Black Hat Organization. She's sending in Livewire's team but they don't know - she said of course they wouldn't _go_ if they knew, but it _has_ to be done. She says this mission is going to change _everything._ The whole world.

"I'm to monitor and do everything I can to - to get all the security data I can from any BHO people they find. She says she knows I can do it. She says she trusts me. And she said it'll be _easier than before._ " She looked like she was going to cry. "I don't know what she's talking about but on a hunch I looked at some of the others here and almost _everyone_ has the same kind of sealed off memories. Richard, Marmot, all the staff and some of the students too. All the same kind of seal. How long..." She sniffled. "How long has she been doing this...?"

She closed her eyes and ducked her head. After a moment, she lifted her face again, openly but silently crying. "I'm going to hide this when I get the chance - I think she's realized I've been keeping records, because she said I'm due for a new phone, all of a sudden."

In the background, there was the sound of a knock on a wooden door, and Instructor Y's voice. "Jeanne? It's time."

Jeanne looked into the camera, clearly fearful, and the video ended.

She'd been sitting exactly where he was now.

Evidently she hadn't been able to hide the phone until she'd gotten to the Wellspring. And that was assuming she hadn't simply dropped it in the commotion there, when she blacked out. When he'd moved in.

Flug sat still for a long time, re-watching some of the videos. When his nose started bleeding again, he didn't bother with further tissues, using the sleeve of the sweater and continuing to re-watch, rather than indulging the distraction.

He should have slept.

He didn't.

He poked around the phone some more, but it was too old to even download the social media apps that he knew Dementia used.

He finally set the videos to upload to the online account he'd made the night before - for backup and for future reference, in case something happened to the phone, given that it was already damaged.

After that, he washed again. It was easier this time; his mind was elsewhere. He barely flinched when the soap stung the cuts on his hands and the puncture on his arm from the window, and when it was obvious that it wasn't his own body. If he was stuck here, he'd just have to get over it, and that was all there was to it.

He picked out another pair of impractically-pocketed jeans, and the cardigan again even with the ripped sleeve - it just _felt_ right. The real find, though, was the t-shirt in the bottom of one of the dresser drawers. It was near-white and covered in swirls in shades of violet, with tiny plastic mirror-gem decorations stuck to it that he couldn't pick off, and there were various bits of inexplicable desaturated Paris- and travel- themed clip art scattered about the swirls. But at the middle top of the design, for some reason, was a rising image of an Airbus A310.

Good enough. The cardigan covered most of the rest of the design anyway.

Flug glanced at the growing pile of used clothing that he'd been kicking under the bed. He _really_ had to get out of here.

Only half of the videos had uploaded by the time he got tired of the delay and paused the process, so that he could use online maps and satellite images to inspect the area, cross-referencing with the steam tunnel map that he rolled out on the desk.

And when the hour grew late enough, he drew himself up, took a deep breath, reviewed his mental script, and dialed Dementia's cellphone.

"Who wants what?"

He wasn't ready when it picked up on the third ring, instead of going to voice mail. It took him a moment to adjust his plan, and he nearly panicked at the delay, speaking quickly. "Dementia, I know this is going to sound insane, but this is Flug! Don't hang up!" The line crackled with static; it didn't seem to be a good connection.

"Oooohkay?" She didn't sound very groggy. Had she not been properly put up for the night? But she went on before he could continue. "Yeah, no, try again, lady. I'm looking at Flug and he's a popsicle right now."

The plan fell apart. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY ROOM?!"

"Night patrol, duh, what do you _think_ I'm doing!" He could almost hear her rolling her eyes. Probably picking earwax too. God she was disgusting.

"Well get _out_ you cretin," he snapped, hyper-aware of every hint of sound on her end of the line that might mean something of his was being broken. Why the hell wasn't she in her pen?

"Well, you're doing a good impression, I'll give you that." Flug was relieved to hear the familiar click of his door in the background, though he almost missed the sound for the static. "So come on, how'd you get this number?"

Flug scowled. He _really_ hadn't wanted to do this, but he wasn't going to get anywhere trying to reason with her, it seemed. Fiction could get him what he needed. "I hacked Instagrim. I just had to let you know." He took a deep breath. "I'm coming to steal Black Hat out from under you."

There was a creaking noise over the line; the static got worse. He hoped he hadn't overdone it - it'd be no good if she just destroyed her phone - but then he heard her voice again. "What. Did. You. Say."

Good, conversation was winning over outright destruction. She was hooked. "I said, unless you can find me and stop me, I'm going to seduce Lord Black Hat and he's never going to look at you again."

"WHERE ARE YOU YOU PIECE OF -"

Bingo. "Trace the call, why don't you," he said smugly. Why in the world did he have the urge to check his nails while he said it? "The computer lab in the first sub-basement has a jack. All you have to do is plug in your phone and tell it to trace."

" _You are so dead,_ " Dementia spat in a truly terrifying hiss.

 _Tell me something I don't know._ Still, it was kind of comforting.

"When I get a hold of you I'm going to hold you down and start removing pieces of you one at a time starting with your _eyelashes_ and when I'm down to just your head and organs I'm going to put you in a box and _keep you like that_ and _feed you to yourself!_ "

Flug raised an eyebrow. Dementia was definitely getting better about using her words.

" _Repeatedly!_ "

Okay maybe he had laid it on a little too thick. "You have to find me first," he reminded. "First sub-basement computer room. Just plug in your phone and pick 'trace last call'."

"I'm going to wear your spleen with feathers in my hair and Black Hat is going to tell me it's lovely and you're going to watch!" The connection crackled badly again.

Flug's other eyebrow joined the first. "Dem have you cut back on the caffeine? That was pretty coherent."

" _Shut up you spooney trollop!_ "

Now Flug's brow furrowed. Where the hell had she learned to talk like that in a week? She sounded like -

He almost dropped the phone. "S-sir?"

There was a sound like fingers losing purchase on the outside of a glass skyscraper on a rainy day. The line went dead.

With a frozen expression of shock, and oblivious to the blood that dripped from his nose again, Flug slowly, slowly lowered the cellphone from his ear. Then he lay it down on the bedside stand, tipped over backward onto the bed, pulled the pillow over his face, and screamed obscenities for a solid half hour.


	11. Fix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which there are Revelations

[ Music: [Bad Omen by FJØRA ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NgRLxtOfbdQ)]

When Shadowshine arrived at Jeanne's room on Wednesday night (technically Thursday morning), the door was unlocked. She pushed it open, cautiously entering, only to find the darkened room cold and empty.

...Not entirely dark. There was light seeping around the edges of the closed closet door. She pulled the room door shut behind her and crept forward, and knocked. And knocked again a little louder. When she still received no response, she grabbed the doorknob and yanked the closet door open.

Rather than the closet spilling light into the room, all was plunged into sudden darkness. Shadowshine made a small surprised sound, flashing indigo.

Then she frowned, and with a little effort, shone a more intense indigo, looking at the exposed back of the closet. She held up one hand, focusing her light, finally reaching the ultraviolet wavelength she'd touched on in surprise.

The wall at the back of the closet - which had previously been covered with stacks of boxes, which were now jammed in along the sides - read "LIBRARY" in otherwise invisible UV-reactive letters. The chain to the lightbulb on the ceiling near the back of the closet had been extended and tied to the doorknob with what looked like shoelaces, so that opening the door couldn't help but turn off the light.

Shadowshine scowled as she entered the library fifteen minutes later, purposely suppressing any bio-luminescent tells, and glaring directly at Flug, who was standing at a table near the back. There were students surrounding him - the Ravens, Virtus, Blip, and at least eight new faces that Shadowshine didn't recognize.

The assembled group looked up as she approached. She stopped at the opposite side of the table - Flug had his fingers paused over the map of the steam tunnels, having evidently been showing a route. Shadowshine held out her fisted hand, waited for him to hold his hand under hers, and dropped his shoelaces into his palm.

He grinned in a way that was too predatory to consider friendly as he stuffed them into a pocket of his cardigan. "So you _can_ do ultraviolet."

"You could've just left a note," she snapped, green flaring over the bridge of her nose. "A regular note. On paper."

"Someone else could've seen it."

"What if I hadn't checked the closet or didn't - couldn't do ultraviolet?" She waved her hands helplessly.

"You'd have figured it out eventually." 

"Where you were or how to be a blacklight? What did you even use to write -"

"Blood." He tapped at the map. "We'll get back to this later," he added to the teens clustered around him. Then, again to Shadowshine, "How do you feel about trying another psychic dive."

Shadowshine wished she'd kept the shoelaces, so that she could strangle him. "First of all, no. Second of all, the Wellspring's toast, so no. Third of all, I am _not_ here for you using me to go all creepy at a psychic impression of -" 

Flug blanched and recoiled, hissing, " _There are children present!_ "

The Ravens traded glances, pursing their lips.

"Yeah, about that." Shadowshine dropped her momentary smirk of victory and gestured to the students, several of whom were now drifting back, away from the (admittedly quiet) confrontation. "Are we _recruiting_ now?"

"It's okay," one of the unfamiliar boys spoke up, tail lashing nervously.

"We all want out of here," another added, to general sounds of agreement from the others.

"We only told," one of the Ravens began.

"Those who want out the most."

"A lot of them have mental blocks."

"Like yours."

Shadowshine straightened, scowl deepening. "Explain."

"Jeanne's phone was full of videos she left herself. Best case scenario, Instructor Y is secretly a supervillain." Flug stood back, pulling out one of the wooden chairs. "Worst case, one of the most powerful ESPers on the planet is _really_ not okay _and_ thinks she's a hero." He gestured to the chair. "Based on Jeanne's videos, I think you keep getting dragged back here because there's something in your memory that Y doesn't dare let loose."

Shadowshine stared, a confusion of green and teal flooding over her skin, before sharpening to cyan. "The Wellspring -"

All five of the Ravens waved at once. "We don't need it," they said in unison. Then,

"As long as we can use Jeanne's brain too."

"We think we can do it even with the shielding -"

"Even though Dr. Flugslys can't turn it off -"

"Because we won't be trying to get _in._ "

"We think that's why Instructor Y always has us separated -"

"- One way or another."

"So we wouldn't catch on."

Shadowshine hesitated, flickering uncertain green-blue. Then she rounded the end of the table to take the offered seat. "Do it before I change my mind again." She swallowed - she had a bad feeling that she knew exactly what she was about to go through. Again. "Just try not to kill me, okay?" She added, closing her eyes as the Ravens reached forward as one, laying their hands on her head.

For a few moments, there was nothing. After a minute she opened one eye. "Um -"

It felt like something tore open in her mind - a sudden release of a pressure she hadn't even noticed before. Shadowshine's mouth dropped open. Everything whirled around her. She couldn't see, but felt herself being thrown to one side.

With a terrible series of impacts and crunching of metal and glass, everything stopped. It took Hana several tries to lift up her small frame; she was shaking badly. She coughed - there was already thick smoke flooding the cab. She could just make out her parents in the front seats, silent, awkwardly bent, and still.

Hana began to scream, skin blazing bright indigo. The car was a two-door hatch back, battered and crunched against the barrier of the empty elevated highway, facing the wrong way now. There was no way she could get out. All she could smell was smoke and gasoline and fire -

"There's a kid in there!"

She knew that high-pitched trill, now. Marmot. Her heart leapt. She screamed for help, pressing her face to the cracked window. In the dark outside, she could make out his lurid neon orange and pink costume approaching.

Something moved in the front seat. Her mother groaned. "Hana..."

"Leave it!" Shock ran through her, both at the shouted order and the speaker. Monobeam. "Y said keep moving - stick to the mission! No rescues!"

Something popped loudly in the displaced engine of the car. She shrieked and screamed for help again. Her father raised his voice as well. "We're in here!"

"There weren't supposed to be civilians!" Marmot was still running toward the wreck.

There was a sudden blast of purple light - a blade that cut right through the car. Monobeam's Power. It barely missed Hana's legs, but obliterated her parents' bodies.

"They're not civilians, they're terrorists! Stick to the mission!" Monobeam shouted, but Marmot was already there, pulling her out of the bisected car. She couldn't breathe, couldn't move, and all she could see were cauterized pieces of her parents scattered through the burning car and onto the road.

And then she heard the Ravens, five voices at once. "We have it."

Shadowshine was back in the library, sitting on an uncomfortable wooden chair, with the Ravens' hands not on her head, but on her shoulders and back. She bent forward, gulping air, the bright indigo fading from her skin. There were tears running down her face, but the first words out of her mouth were, " _I'm going to kill her._ "

"We can give that memory to any telepath the Heroes' Council wants," said one of the Ravens, on her knees next to the chair.

"Y could play it as a misunderstanding," Shadowshine said, sitting up again. The indigo that shifted over her deepened to a distinct purple. "Lemme kill her first."

"With all the other blocks in peoples' memories here?" Another Raven pointed out.

"There's going to be plenty of evidence."

"We get out of here -"

"Go spring Allie and Della -"

"And we can do this for everybody by ourselves."

"I'm still going to kill her." There was something darker burning on Shadowshine's skin, deep and hard to look at - less a glow than a void. Something on the far side of ultraviolet.

"Don't let us stop you," the Ravens cheerfully said in unison.

"Uh, guys?" One of the new recruits said behind them. "Um. Is Dr. Flugslys okay...?"

"No," Shadowshine said, before her bio-luminescence turned green as she realized the concern and turned around in the chair. The Ravens parted behind her, turning as well.

Flug was lying on the carpet on his side, ghost-pale, streaks of blood streaming from his nose, unconscious.

\-----------------------

Smoke, jet fuel, burning plastic and vinyl, burning flesh and bone. Fire and brimstone and laughter. Everything hurt in the most pure, most intense sense of the word.

But nobody'd ever be able to say he hadn't done it. Lord Black Hat himself had said he'd never get into Hat Manor, and he'd gotten in. For probably a few more minutes, he was alive to regret it, but he'd _done it_. Nobody'd ever call him a failure again. Not even Black Hat.

He couldn't stop laughing.

He couldn't stop laughing.

He couldn't stop laughing.

He couldn't stop screaming.

\-----------------------

When he opened his eyes two hours later, he was lying on his back with what seemed to be someone's jacket wadded up under his pounding head. There were rainbow zig-zags slowly receding out of his field of vision.

"You with us?"

He turned his head to the right, blinking groggily. It was still difficult to see, but he recognized soft blue-green light that wasn't part of the migraine aura. It took another moment to force sound out of his throat. "Mm."

"You're lucky Alex can do minor reversal," Shadowshine said, sitting cross-legged next to him, flickering turquoise. "No more ESPer stuff for you. Seriously." She awkwardly shoved the faux-glasses into his hand - he hadn't realized they'd been removed.

"What are you talking about," he mumbled, closing his eyes again. His arm didn't hurt from where the window had jabbed him any more, but his hands, which had healed enough to feel itchy, were back to stinging like the cuts were new.

"The Ravens said you're basically running evil genius software on ESPer hardware and burning out Jeanne's brain when you try to make it use both at once."

He opened one eye again, but saw no reason to be skeptical. It seemed a sufficient explanation. "The other part."

"Alex." She gestured toward a teenager at a computer across the room, who waved back. "He can kind of revert things to a previous state. That's his Power. Virtus went and got him when, um. When you..." She huffed, uncomfortable. Elbows on her knees, she kept moving as if failing complete some unknown gesture - almost reaching, then catching herself and returning her hands to lace her fingers loosely over her legs. "Yeah. Anyway, he doesn't have anything blocked in _his_ head, but he and Virtus are a _thing_ so he says he's in."

"In what?"

"The Yolanda School Villains' Club?" She snorted with a half-smile, and tightened her laced fingers rather than let herself smack him in the shoulder. "In for the jailbreak-and-take-down-Instructor-Y plan here, you goof."

Flug frowned. "I'm not familiar with the second part of that plan."

"I'm gonna kill her." Shadowshine fully smiled and rippled a deep blue - but the way the prospect excited her said everything. She coughed, looking away for a moment, the blue fading out on her cheeks last, like a blush. " _Anyway._ Alex can only go back like, a couple of days max, but we figured that'd be enough. To put your brain back together I mean. Well, Jeanne's brain. We just weren't sure exactly how far back the reset went." She took a deep breath. "We weren't sure you'd still be, you know. You. Seems to have worked though. What's the last thing you remember?"

"Dick being a supreme tool."

She rippled blue, smiling again, but not quite the same way as she had at the prospect of murder. "Gonna need some more context."

"In your head."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay, good, we're on the same page then." She lifted her head and nodded - to a couple of the Ravens, as it turned out. All five of them were flopped onto the carpet not too far away to his right, but only two of them seemed to be awake. "Success," Shadowshine relayed with a blue flicker, and one of them gave a tired thumbs-up.

She looked back at him, and he noticed that she seemed tired as well. "The Ravens weren't sure it would work, but they basically got _you_ out while Alex fixed Jeanne's body and then put you back in. Like moving a box to clean under it."

"More like a jellyfish," the other conscious Raven supplied.

"So you're telling me," he said carefully, "That a bunch of juvenile delinquents effectively performed neurosurgery on me, and in the process, psychically took me out and put me back into a body that's not even mine in the first place."

She nodded. "Looks good on a resumé, right?"

"When you're all buying from BHO in a couple of years I'll give you a discount."

Shadowshine broke out into a wide grin. "I'm probably going to kill Instructor Y before that, but thanks."

"Watch out - she might come after you personally once she's discredited."

"That's why we're gonna stick together," Haxxor said, appearing from somewhere else in the library and coming to stand over Flug. "There's a place in Nevada I found records of a few years ago. Abandoned bunker system. Just gotta get out of _here_ is all."

Flug tilted his head toward the boy. "I take it I was out long enough for you to finish uploading the videos."

"Yup." Haxxor dropped the device into Flug's hands. "And fixed up the account and erased all record of the number you called, like you said. Should take at least a month for anybody to catch on." He held out one hand to Shadowshine. "I can do yours next."

"Keen." She handed him her own phone. "Are you hungry?" She added to Flug, before lifting her head again. "Somebody go get some snacks."

"I don't want food." Flug waved to clear them away from hovering over him, so that he could sit up, carefully. His head had stopped pounding, but he didn't want to risk it starting again. "What about the pages?"

"You were right," Blip said, drifting down onto the nearest table, delicately hugging two dozen or so sheets of crumbling paper - at least, most of them looked like paper. "She had them right there on her desk. We got in after she left for the night and they were right there out in the open!"

Flug nodded, reaching. "She feels secure. Everything is under her control, she thinks." The corner of his mouth twitched. "Underestimation of her opposition. She might not even realize she _has_ opposition. Too complacent. She's not very good at this."

He looked over the first of the pages, turned it, then inspected the second, then laid them out on the floor around himself.

There were pages torn from at least four different ancient and irreplaceable tomes. Two of the pages were from the translated Mulian bestiary; he set those aside, frowning at the other pages, separating them by source and arranging them in order as possible.

Shadowshine slid one of the bestiary pages toward herself. "That does look like what we saw in the memory," she said, squinting at the faded and smudged art of a lamprey-like mouth in the middle of an indistinct mass. "What's a Yoh-Vombis?" She frowned, trying to pronounce the visible part of the largest letters on the page.

"No clue," Flug said, glancing up from the other pages. He scowled. The depicted creature looked like a tea towel with a mouth. Suspiciously like tea towels he'd seen in the kitchen at Hat Manor, in fact. "Does it shape-shift?"

"It doesn't say, that I could find," Blip said helpfully. "But it eats brains. Or attaches to brains and controls the victim. Or both."

Flug's eye twitched. "Going to guess that's a dead end," he muttered, as though saying it aloud made it true. "You're right, Shadowshine; I'm just going to have to ask." He hoped nobody would ask why he was gritting his teeth.

"Also apparently this kind here?" Blip went on, oblivious, pointing to another section further down the page. "Some empire used them to foil assassins and they were all rare and prized and stuff. They can turn anybody into anybody else they ate."

"Holy shit," Shadowshine exclaimed, eyebrows raised. "Your paper bag makes you immortal."

Brow furrowed, Flug snatched the page from Shadowshine's hands, and grabbed the other bestiary page from the floor, and proceeded to fold them together into a small (and destructive, given the age of the parchment) square that he shoved into the pocket of the cardigan with his shoelaces.

"So it's a parasite to like, clone him if he dies?"

"Wouldn't that be more symbiotic than -"

"Can we talk about something else?" Flug snapped, head down, trying to pretend he was focusing on the other pages.

"Is that what happened to Copper?"

The room fell silent. Flug didn't move, heart thumping, wondering how far he could get before at least one of these Powered kids took out their anger at losing a friend on him. The increasing certainty that he was nothing but an unfortunate psychic duplication in a dead woman's body did nothing to mitigate a lifetime of survival instinct development.

Finally, someone - he wasn't even sure who - said, "That's one hell of a company perk."

"Does it hurt?"

"He'd have known about it if it did, duh."

"Oh okay."

"Instructor Y is _fucked_ , man."

"Are you guys hiring?"

"Went after the _wrong_ target."

"Do you do internships?"

" _Moving on,_ " Flug said, lifting his head again and trying very hard to not look at any of the teens. His eye was twitching again.

"Shoo, guys," Shadowshine said, waving her hands and glowing a strangely warm cyan. She was grinning.

"I thought this was a heroes' school," he muttered, shuffling pages.

"Only if you want to be a hero. Otherwise it _sucks,_ " Haxxor pointed out. "Like, Copper melted two of my laptops in a row, and I got told how he was just a high-spirited boy and I should let it go and not be so attached to material possessions."

"He melted the lock on my room and _I_ got in trouble for having to bust down the door," Virtus added from behind them.

Flug lowered his gaze again. "The more things change the more they stay the same," he mumbled.

"Your existence here gives a lot of us permission to be ourselves," the last conscious Raven said, leaving her sisters snoring on the floor and sitting up against a table leg. "Authority figure that's not going to turn us in and beat us down."

"Vive la révolution," one of the other Ravens said loudly in her sleep.

"You could rest too," Shadowshine told the conscious one.

"My turn's later. We don't want to miss anything." She pushed her thin glasses up her nose with one finger.

"Can you read these at all?" Flug asked Blip, rubbing his eyes - the text on the page seemed to be swimming, but he wasn't sure if it was the struggle to concentrate, or some property of the writing itself, or both.

"Maybe a little, when it holds still," the small being said, solving that mystery. They pointed to a page that seemed to be primarily composed of black ink. "Check it out: there's your boss."

The mass of supposedly two-dimensional dark seemed to be moving; Flug had the disquieting feeling that it was looking at him, and that he could discern shapes in the blackness if only he stared long enough. And that was definitely a top hat, there. "Not a bad likeness," he nodded, before returning to his overall inspection. "These arcs - they're part of a circle," he said, leafing through a different pile. The depicted circle couldn't be assembled by rearranging the relevant pages - some of the arcs were on the backs of pages that had arcs on the front, probably as a safety measure.

Shadowshine slapped at a piece of paper, then glanced up and shrugged when the others abruptly turned their attention to her. "Sorry. It looked like it-" she looked down again and lifted her hand hastily. "I think I just felt it _wriggling._ "

"I'd advise against prolonged contact." Flug frowned. "This is a summoning? A binding." He turned two of the pages over. "Both. Concentric circles?"

"That's what I thought," Blip nodded, and indicated another few pages from a different tome. "This whole bit's about arranging multi-purpose circles to get all the different effects you want."

"How can you even _almost_ read this?" Shadowshine asked.

"I was ten pages before the one with his boss." Blip pointed at another pile of pages, apparently oblivious to the others' staring. "This guy's handwriting is really bad, is the problem with these ones here. But on the back of that page there, there's a bit about stuff you need to make bindings permanent."

"Why are you at this school?" Flug asked, eyes narrowed.

"The dining plan was included with tuition."

"So what makes for permanent bindings, then?" Shadowshine asked, glancing repeatedly at the page with Black Hat like it was difficult to look away.

"You need to hurt the subject. Like, physical hurt, upsetting them, whatever. Permanence of the binding depends on what's done and how. Sacrifice of their sacred stuff is the big component." Blip pulled another page. "Where and when you do your spells matters too. Particular mountains, holy lakes, moon phases, planetary alignments, stuff like that. The Outside-Days that aren't on the calendar are good. Very Mayan, this one."

"Oh, I thought with the gore it'd be Aztec." Shadowshine took the page and looked at it sideways, making a face. "Is that guy putting spikes in his -"

"Nah, definitely Mayan. This is from the codex arcana of the reign of Yat B'alam. Much earlier. Fourth century CE when they contained the Fire-Sound-Color for a couple of centuries."

"We don't do the not-on-the-calendar days any more," Haxxor pointed out without looking up from Shadowshine's phone. He'd sat on the table next to Blip, dangling his feet.

"You say that when it's Leap Year on Saturday," Flug pointed out. "It's more about cultural perception than man-made calendar. Whatever Y is researching here, she might be going to try it then."

Haxxor passed Shadowshine's phone back to her. "Should we maybe take pics and put these back in the office...?"

"Trust me, pictures wouldn't come out." Flug picked up another page and looked at the bottom. "I'd rather not risk breaking the phone. Blip, is this phrase -"

"Banishment, basically."

"Are you sure?" He squinted. "Looks more like..." He frowned.

"Well, okay, if those two characters aren't supposed to be joined -"

"Dissipation." Flug tossed the page down, pushing himself back and rising to his feet. He wobbled - he'd stood too fast and lost one of his lace-less sneakers in the process - but gripped the back of a chair to keep himself upright, and stared down at the page like it was going to bite.

"Eternal, yep, that's it." Blip nodded. "Dissipation eternal."

"Oh," Flug breathed. "Shit."

"What?" The Raven watching the proceedings sat up straighter again, picking up on the emotional change.

Flug turned away, took a step, and turned back to stare at the page again, one hand to his head and waving with the other. "Shit, shit, shit, no, that can't work, it - no -"

" _Words,_ Flug," Shadowshine said, letting slip a flash of green. She got up as well and tried to duck into his field of vision to get his attention. "Well, different words."

"Jeanne's phone - the last video - she said Instructor Y was trying to change the world and she needed BHO information to do it." He pointed at the page accusingly.

"She's trying to kill Black Hat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goal: ~~Hat Manor~~ _**Save Black Hat**_
> 
> \------------
> 
> Thank you guys for all the comments! Seriously.  
> Writers thrive on 'em but these are blowing my mind.  
> I only humbly hope the rest of the fic lives up to the expectations.
> 
> ...In the time since I had my Mayan anthropology classes, they seem to have decided to start translating "Yat B'alam" as "Progenitor Jaguar". This is a sad come-down, in my opinion, from the first king of Yaxchilan being named "Penis Jaguar".
> 
> Also, I (much belatedly) realized last night that I've been envisioning the Pelaton wife for Jeanne's face. Eleven chapters in and I just. _facepalm_


	12. This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Plans Are Made And Goodbyes Are Said

[ Music: [Hatchet by Archive](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lnwABVxcl3s) ]

The stunned silence in the library was as complete as possible in a room full of tired disgruntled students, one attempted adult, and one mad scientist. That is to say, not very. Almost everyone was whispering at each other at once.

"Wait, what?"

"Holy -"

"Can she _do_ that?"

"Look, _he_ thinks it's a problem, that's all we need to know, right?"

Flug stood, supporting himself on the back of the chair he'd grabbed to keep himself standing in the first place. His eyes were closed. Deep breaths. In four, hold seven, exhale eight. Need a plan, need a plan, need a plan, identify goal, identify obstacles, identify resources...

"What would that even _do?_ "

"Are you kidding? Imagine the world without the Pact."

"Wouldn't that just be like befo-"

" _Without_ Black Hat, duh."

"No balance. Nobody keeping Mr. Hallow in check."

"And his suck-ups would handle _everything_ -"

"And get their fingers into more and more and more -"

"It'd be like being _here,_ **_forever._** "

"Oh god -"

"No -"

"Oh crap what do we _do?_ "

Flug held up one hand, and the room actually quieted in a chain reaction of hissed shushing. That was an enchanting experience all on its own.

Eyes still closed, reading imagined schematics detailing alterations to existing plan, Flug returned both hands to the back of the chair, rocking on his feet. "Right." He was silent for a moment more. "Right."

Deep breath. His eyes snapped open.

"Blip, we need translations, best possible at speed. Need two volunteers - right, you and you. Write down everything Blip says. You, over there, saw you doodling; you copy the pictures. Runes, sigils, glyphs, accurate as possible. We need to get the pages back into Y's office before she returns in the morning." He pointed at Haxxor. "You, get into her computer, see what she's got about her plans in there, if anything. Send everything you can to my account. Keep the computer security down, obviously. Ravens -" He glanced over at the girls, three of whom were awake now. "Keep the biologic security from noticing anything."

He raised his voice just enough to carry. "Otherwise, the escape plan is still on. When do we start?"

"Ten-thirteen PM, sir," half a dozen voices chorused. Just long enough after curfew to be able to start moving more freely, but not long enough to reduce the chaos they'd need for cover, and at an odd time to throw any subconscious expectation.

Flug's mouth twisted into a particularly dangerous half-smile as he nodded. "Lab team: once you prep the sodium as discussed, get to the pool and wait for the signal. Remember, all in at once and _run._ And _not more than a kilogram_ if there's that much there. Less and you can augment with other alkalis."

"There was plenty of sodium yesterday," the freckled green boy with the tail said excitedly. "I'm really sure there's plutonium in the Lab too; I've been able to smell it for months. Should we take this nuclear?"

"No. Transp-"

" _Can_ we take this nuclear?"

Flug scowled. In four, hold seven, out eight. "We _could_ but it's a completely unnecessary complication. Far be it from me to tell you to _not_ pack up some plutonium for yourself if you really want but _it's not part of the plan._ "

The boy made a sound of delight that said he probably had a promising career in the illegal application of nuclear physics ahead of him.

"Moving on," Flug continued. "Transportation team, you've got to be far enough off in the steam tunnels by then to not get caught when the pool goes. Don't lose your map keepers. Remember, when you come out at the resort on the mountain, you're looking for vans or trucks. At least four; you'll need room for yourselves and whomever you pick up at the prison tomorrow. Get more people out than you're taking with you. You'll need the distraction. If you don't have enough drivers, don't take hostages, it's too much trouble. Go for automatic transmission and learn as you go, it's not that hard." He indicated the Ravens. "They're handling the prison part of the plan. Capacity is more important than speed for your vehicles here."

"I'm not riding with him if he's bringing a nuke."

"It wouldn't be a _nuke,_ just the plutoni-"

"Don't think we don't know what you built in your bathtub, Creeper."

"Yeah, private bath for 'health reasons' my butt. We all know you're using the communal showers when you think nobody's around."

Creeper lashed his tail uncomfortably. "Well _obviously_ I can't sneak the whole thing out..."

"Look," Flug interrupted, trying to be as pleasant as possible through gritted teeth. "Who _hasn't_ built a nuclear device in their dorm room. I know I did. Twice. But now is _not_ the time. Stick with the plan. Got it?"

"Yes sir," multiple voices chorused. That part wasn't going to get old, ever, Flug decided.

Another deep breath. "All right. Lab team, evacuate with the other students, on the monorail if you can to make coordination easier, and wait for pickup in town. All of you, if you have to bring anything with you, no more than fits in a backpack, and avoid anything that'll set off the metal detectors. Make sure your phones are charged and you all have each others' contact info - there's a reason that communication lines are what you take out first in a war." He tapped on the back of the chair, staring at the table rather than at any of the students, mentally running down his checklist.

"Heads down, take it easy, let the Ravens handle any cops as much as possible. Not being noticed _at all_ will get you further than confrontation, so don't do anything to draw attention and stay on back roads as much as possible. Sleep in shifts when you stop. You'll be expected to scatter instead of staying together, so don't, if you can help it, for as long as possible. 

"Get a decent dinner; you don't know for sure when you're going to eat again. You still have a day of classes to get through - don't draw attention by all calling off sick. ...Unless you have class with Instructor Y. Ditch that class. Dismissed." 

"What are we going to do about -"

"I said, _dismissed,_ " Flug glared at the assembly for a moment, before easing just a little. "I'm going to handle it, and if it changes your part of the plan, any of you, you'll know." Not that he knew exactly what he could do, he had to admit to himself, as the students dispersed. If Jeanne's instinct left him psychically shielded, did that mean he could physically take down the head of the school? What if she'd set up her plan to continue even if she died?

"Shadowshine -"

He turned and startled to find her next to him, closer than anticipated and very nearly standing at attention. Smirking. "Uh." He caught his train of thought again. "I need your phone number."

"Yes, yes you do," she said, blue-green glowing on her cheeks. " _Sir._ "

His eyes narrowed as he handed over Jeanne's phone for her to enter her number. "If that's how you're going to be you can go get me some coffee."

She stuck out her tongue. "Sounds like you expect me to _not_ kill Instructor Y tonight."

"We have to know how to stop her plan first. You go with the transportation team."

"And you'll be...?" She started typing in her number to send a text.

He wouldn't make eye contact. "Distracting Instructor Y."

Shadowshine stopped tapping on the phone screen, bio-luminescence shading much more green. "Uh-huh." She finished typing and sent, her own phone in her pocket chiming quietly. "Watch it, you're bordering on a heroic action there."

"Absolutely not!" Flug snatched Jeanne's phone back. "You think two dozen teenagers excited about escaping wouldn't get her attention? She has to be distracted. You guys are going to need the Ravens so I'm the only option with psychic shielding."

She still looked skeptical. "You think you can keep up being Jeanne long enough for the evacuation to get going?"

"Gotta try."

"Sure you're not going a little heroic?"

"You gonna mind if I kill her? If her plan can be stopped with her dead, I mean."

Shadowshine brightened. " _There_ it is. Nah, I'm not going to be upset about her dying before I get to her, that's dumb." She smirked. "I mean, I'm not mad about Monobeam, right?"

"Good girl." The corner of his mouth twitched. "Now get me a coffee."

She snorted, flashing blue. "Get it yourself." She pointed to his feet. "But first lace up your shoes again before the other one comes off."

He followed her gaze, then sheepishly toed his foot into his sneaker that had come off when he'd stood, and turned the chair he leaned against so as to sit. Evil genius/current commander giving orders whilst missing a shoe. Maybe no one else had noticed, he hoped as he pulled the laces from his pocket.

The library slowly emptied over the next hour, students leaving a few at a time to try to be less noticeable. The school would start waking before long. Haxxor returned, clearing the workstations of evidence. "She's been arranging for her and somebody else to attend the Gala," he said, methodically proceeding from computer to computer, "instead of Spalpeen and Cardshark. Looks like she had plans to go hiking or something for the weekend in Death Valley, so if she's aiming for Leap Year that'd be the location, probably."

"Badwater Basin's the lowest point on the continent," Shadowshine pointed out. "That sounds like the kind of special place you'd want for a big spell."

"That's what I thought. Other than that I didn't find much of anything though." Haxxor switched off the computer next to Flug's. "Get this, though. Apparently Marmot is a shoggoth hybrid. She found him in an abandoned Nazi base in Antarctica in the 70s."

"You guys didn't know?" Blip said, handing Shadowshine the stack of transcriptions and gathering up the torn pages. "I thought his voice gave it away."

"This might come as a surprise," Shadowshine said carefully, "But a lot of people aren't entirely familiar with... everything you're familiar with."

"Weird." Blip held up the torn pages. "I'll go put these back."

The boy that had been copying art from the pages made a face. "Aren't they like... gelatinous? How would you -"

"Well you see, when a mad scientist and a Shoggoth love each other very much -"

"- They go down to the lab and combine genetic materials -"

"- until they come up with something viable."

"Isn't it past your bed-time?" Flug asked, looking over his monitor and raising an eyebrow at the Ravens. He turned back to his computer and closed windows, addressing Haxxor again. "How does that figure in what we were looking for." He didn't mean that it didn't. What happened if spells designed by humans were performed by non-humans? Might it improve their effectiveness depending on the species?

"Apparently she's had him taking some intensive flying lessons all of a sudden."

"Makes sense," Shadowshine nodded. "Dick was the pilot most of the time."

"Is that why they crashed so much?" The remaining students snickered, but Haxxor shook his head.

"This started before Dick died." He reached for Flug's computer to erase their tracks. "But yeah, no idea if that's relevant. Lots of stuff wasn't even that interesting, obviously. Mostly financials for arranging another Blackbird and Gala logistics the past day or so. Messaging with the Roost about prepping a couple of jets here, limo from the airport to the venue, ordering dresses to meet her at the airport for her and I guess whoever she's going with -"

"Wait a minute," Shadowshine interrupted, flashing cyan for attention. "Dresses plural? Spalpeen was getting her own gown."

"Like it matters who she's roped into going with her," Flug said, rolling his eyes as he stood. "Anything big in the financials recently? She mentioned a project when she talked to me, but didn't say what it was. Getting another Blackbird would've been a problem if the project wasn't completed already."

Haxxor shook his head. "Just the monorail, and that was something they always wanted to do here. Had plans for it for thirty years before they even got to _start_ on it like, what, fifteen years ago? It was under construction longer than any of us have been here." He nodded toward Shadowshine. "Except maybe the old lady here."

Shadowshine glimmered close to indigo. "Not a good night to piss me off, man. It didn't start until _after_ I got here. So not even fourteen years."

"Don't worry, you're not old." Flug patted her on the shoulder with his free hand - the other cradling the stack of papers - even though one side of his mouth twisted upward.

"Given who you work for, your opinion doesn't count."

"Point. I was thinking about Jeanne though. You should see her old photos - she hasn't aged in forty -" He stopped, his mind catching up. "When did you say they were at the abandoned base in Antarctica?"

"Mid-sevent-ooooh." Haxxor raised his eyebrows, the other remaining students echoing his expression.

"I don't know if it's useful," Flug said, one hand up, bandaged palm outward, to ward off too much curiosity. "But yeah, might be worth trying to find out exactly what happened in that battle."

"I know Magnetite was there," Shadowshine said with confident blue. "We were gonna spring him with the other Ravens anyway. Pretty sure he'll talk to me."

Flug glanced down at the computer he'd been using as Haxxor switched it off. "Later. Come on, everybody out of here before it gets any earlier."

\-----------------------

Flug forgot entirely about the Tylenol PM he still hadn't taken. He sat cross-legged on the bed, still dressed, poring over the translated and transcribed pages and coming little closer to understanding the mechanics of the spells involved. It didn't even seem like the dissipation spell could be combined with the summoning and binding circles - it originated in a completely different culture, and style of usage, than the circle theories, from what he could tell. There'd have to be a way to introduce it after the fact, but that would erase parts of the other circles, so that wouldn't work.

On the other hand, if she hadn't gotten as far as figuring out the spells, why would she have been attempting to gather components? Because that's almost certainly what she was trying to do, in going to such lengths to acquire BHO information. Not to mention having a date and location worked out.

What did it matter? She wouldn't be able to permanently bind Black Hat anyway. Even if Jeanne _had_ succeeded in collecting data from his mind in that factory attack - rather than just collecting his mind, he thought bitterly - and even if they'd managed to do something like get someone into Hat Manor to steal something, it wasn't as though anything existed that could be sacrificed to make Black Hat vulnerable to the permanent binding. And he was too powerful for anything less to work for very long.

There was the chance, however, that the permanent binding was only a safeguard, helpful but not required for what she meant to do...

He realized that he was lying on the rich dark carpet of the hall in front of his room, only it wasn't his room yet; everything was still smoldering and broken. He hurt - his head incredibly so - smoke touching layers of flesh that should never have been exposed to air. He whimpered and tried to drag himself away from the heat, but could barely withstand the pressure of movement at all.

"Ah, there we are. Took you long enough." The darkness at the edges of Flug's vision coalesced, and Black Hat moved closer to him, long legs stepping over debris whose flames considerately moved aside.

Flug made a valiant attempt to crawl the other way, though his body failed to respond to the effort in the slightest. He made it onto his back, arms curled in and shaking, and realized that there was something covering his head that crinkled when he turned. Somehow it seemed to have gotten under his goggles, even.

"I'd like to offer you a position in my organization," Black Hat said formally, looking down at him with narrowed eye, hands clasped behind his back. "That _is_ what you desired, isn't it?" His smile spread wide. "Money? Power?" Wider. "Freedom." _Wider._ " _Recognition._ " The smile dropped as he answered the unasked question. "Don't be silly - I wouldn't go to this trouble to simply let you die immediately. You'll be repaired."

There was nothing but the quiet sound of flames and the choking rasp of Flug's breath inside a paper bag he didn't remember putting over his head. He lay still, staring up at Black Hat, who stood at his head and bent forward slightly, still grinning as he waited for the inevitable answer.

Flug's hand twitched.

Saliva dripped from Black Hat's lower lip as he unfurled something that looked like paper, the shadows underneath Flug solidifying and lifting him upright. When his feet found the floor, the pain was already receding.

"If you'll just sign here," Black Hat murmured near his ear, close behind him now, one clawed finger tapping the contract that hovered in front of them. Flug wasn't sure where the pen in his hand came from, but his heart was beating stronger every moment. Everything he'd ever wanted and living to enjoy it? And what vile deeds could be asked of him that could top what he'd already done? He didn't hesitate.

And then everything was whirling darkness, and he was spinning, torn apart and put back together. When he opened his eyes, he was lying on the floor again, at Black Hat's feet.

"Now perhaps," Black Hat growled, jabbing his cane into Flug's breastbone and leaning on it heavily, "we can discuss _restitution for_ **_what you have done to MY HOUSE._** "

With a strangled squawk, Flug sat bolt upright, papers scattering. Hand on his chest, he panted until his heart rate slowed again. His shoulders sagged in relief and despair and he couldn't explain either emotion.

He set alarms on the plugged-in phone and took the Tylenol PM before he lay down again.

\---------------------

Flug didn't wake until his last-chance alarms began at nine, and didn't bother with changing clothes or washing. Instead he spent the hour until the escape plan went into motion eating a few more energy bars and going over the pages again.

Jeanne's phone buzzed on the nightstand - he'd set it to vibrate. After a moment he reached over distractedly and unplugged it, looking at the screen.

Shadowshine had texted. _You up?_

_Of course._

_Did you actually sleep?_

_Eventually._  
_Meant to tell you:_  
_Expect to be contacted by_  
_Universidad de la Diablo_

_WTF?_

_Got you set up for fall semester._  
_Full scholarship and expense account._

_Did it occur to you that_  
_I might not want to go?_

_Do you not want to go?_

It took a little while before her response arrived.

_No other plans. So thanks._

And then, a few moments later,

_You're ditching, aren't you._

He thought about denying it.

He didn't.

_You don't need me._

_Breakup by text. Cold, man._

_???_

_Open the goddamn door already, Flug. ___

__He could see the cyan light bleeding under the room's door as soon as he turned the light off. With the pages stuffed in an entirely too decorative book bag thrown over one shoulder, he glanced at the room one last time to make sure he had everything, and unlocked the door._ _

__Shadowshine nodded at him, stuffing her phone into her pocket again, and they managed not to speak until they were halfway down the access stairwell. "This is it."_ _

__He cast about for something to say; he'd been dreading this almost as much as the impending conversation with Instructor Y. "You'll do fine."_ _

__"We're all gonna die."_ _

__"Eventually."_ _

__She held out her hand, purposefully suppressing any bio-luminescence. "Thanks again."_ _

__He shook her hand, pleased when she _didn't_ attempt to drag him into a hug. "Don't mention it." Then, "Seriously, it's probably not a good idea to -"_ _

__She snorted. "I get it, I get it."_ _

__They stopped at the bottom of the stairwell. Flug felt like there was something left to say. "You said a few times about always being in the back seat." He offered what he hoped was an encouraging smile, but it came out nervous instead. "Time to drive."_ _

__"Nice." She nodded, laying hands on the crash-bar door to the ground floor. "No more ESPer stuff, remember."_ _

__"I remember."_ _

__An awkward pause._ _

__"Are you gonna be okay?"_ _

__Flug rolled his eyes. "I don't think I've ever been okay in my life. Stop asking."_ _

__"Okay." She smirked and turned to push open the door._ _

__With a surreal groan, an incredibly loud sound began winding up to a banshee wail. Shadowshine yanked her hands away, flickering indigo, but it had nothing to do with any alarm on the door - it was an air raid siren._ _

__"What the hell?!" Shadowshine shoved the door open. Three of the students from the night before passed, running down the hall toward the pool and end stairwell; one slowed but didn't stop, throwing a salute on his way. More prescient was the steadily increasing rumbling undertone to the entire building as the planned evacuation began for unplanned reasons._ _

__Flug lifted his head, eyes unfocused, catching a familiar whirring hum that had to be the sweetest sound he'd heard in a week. "Heh." He lowered his head again, grinning dangerously when Shadowshine turned._ _

__"My ride's here."_ _

__She stared for a moment, indigo fading rapidly to green-blue, then back to more blue than green as she grinned back. "You called home."_ _

__"I didn't know for sure if they'd come," he admitted, softening a little - but the sound of the Hatship circling was unmistakable to him. If it were him piloting - which technically it would be - he'd be looking for somewhere reasonably impressive to land. "Go on, get to the steam tunnels. It's not going to be pretty. Never is."_ _

__There were other students pounding down the stairs above them now. Shadowshine nodded, stepping back, and didn't look away until she broke into a run in the hallway. Flug stepped out and to one side of the stairwell door, letting the stream of descending students pass, all heading opposite the direction that Shadowshine had taken._ _

__Blip - probably making sure they were seen - was rapidly crawling down the hall's ceiling with jerky movements too fast for a human body despite their shape, which would have been remarkably terrifying if not for at least six other kids of varying ages doing nearly the same thing. Several unfamiliar adults, presumably teachers and security personnel, were stationed at various points of the hall, attempting to project authority and control the flow of students (and reprimand those on the ceiling, and several that seemed to be phasing through walls, other students, and any other obstacles in order to get further ahead). The flow seemed evenly divided, at least; some were funneling toward the main lobby and entrance, some splintered off down the side corridor that led to the garage, and the rest were heading toward the tunnel that led to the monorail and Roost._ _

__The time for subtlety had most certainly passed._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \----------------------
> 
> DISCLAIMER: [DO NOT SODIUM + WATER.](https://theodoregray.com/PeriodicTable/Stories/011.2/index.html)


	13. It Hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Things Go Well And Truly Sideways

[ Music: [Path by Apocalyptica](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m9xqO9kKqyk) ]

Flug slipped down the hall toward Instructor Y's office. It hardly seemed necessary to distract her at this point, but if he could talk to her, maybe he could find out if she'd somehow automated her plan.

Of course, that would mean getting her monologuing. At least given how much effort he'd expended to teach villains _not_ to fall into that trap, he ought to be able to induce it, one way or another.

There was still light showing under her office door. He knocked - the commotion was down the hall, from here, so she should be able to hear, if she was still there. He certainly hadn't seen her pass in the hall.

The door was unlatched, opening a fraction under the force of his hand. He frowned in suspicion, but pushed the door open further. "Uh. Hello?"

"Do come in," Instructor Y called. "Don't worry, we'll be leaving shortly. Just finishing up." She was at the far end of the room, dressed in dark gray this time. She stood in front of the large fireplace, which was blazing bright - though for a moment, he thought he saw an odd tint to some of the flames. Her back was to him; she seemed to be tossing something into the fire.

Flug realized that in the rush of knowing that he was about to be rescued, he hadn't considered exactly how this conversation would go. "Ah. Um. Are you okay?" He winced at himself. "What's going on?" He tried to remember what Jeanne had sounded like in the videos. Concerned was a safe bet.

Y tossed something else into the fireplace, which landed with a smacking sound. "We're under attack, obviously. I trust the students are evacuating as trained."

"They seem to be," Flug said, approaching cautiously. The sounds outside the room were dulled down; he realized that he couldn't hear the Hatship any more. It had landed. "Shouldn't you - we be going too? What are you -"

The cellphone in his back pocket, still set to vibrate, gave a distracting buzz. He hoped that she didn't hear it over the crackling of the fire. It sounded like something in the flames was quietly squealing, like steam escaping.

Instructor Y leaned forward to rest her forehead on her right forearm, which she propped on the stone mantle as she looked down at the fire. "Nearly done. It's taking a little longer than expected." She took up the iron poker in her left hand, jabbing at the fire; the squealing sound altered a little. She sighed, her hand at the mantle closing over something lying on it. 

"Tell me, Dr. Flug, do you have any recommendations for the disposal of grimoire pages?"

Ohcrap.

She raised her head as she turned, smiling pleasantly at him. "You truly are a fool." She lifted her arm from the mantle, and he realized - when she pointed it at him - that the object she'd taken hold of was a revolver. "My daughter would _never_ hide her mind from me," she explained, motioning for him to raise his hands. "I don't know what training you've had that allows you to do so; for that I give you credit. But otherwise, I simply don't understand how you ever thought to pass yourself off as Jeanne. To others perhaps, but not to me."

She held out the poker, beckoning him a little closer. "Your satchel," she said, motioning. "And empty your pockets, please." When he only withdrew the folded bestiary pages from Jeanne's cardigan - he'd forgotten about them - she motioned again. He held up his hands.

"Like anything could fit in any of these other pockets," he gestured, the cardigan hiding the outline of the phone in the back pocket.

Y shrugged. "Fair enough. Into the fire with those, then, don't dawdle." She nodded at his obedience. "Copies. Of course. Not that it matters. Hands up," she reminded, motioning with the poker again. The pistol remained pointed at him the entire time.

There. A hook. His mouth twitched at the ridiculousness of what he was about to do. "You'll never succeed."

"Au contraire; there's little chance of failure." Her smile never wavered, but she tilted her head a little, and the angle changed her expression for the darker. "I've had _plenty_ of time to do my research. The chances of success have never been higher. Only one question remains, and as it turns out, I'll have opportunity to ask Mr. Hallow for his blessing after all."

"If that's who I think it is," Flug said dryly, "You won't get it."

There was a sound somewhere far-off - quick, repeating bursts of gunfire. Jeanne's cellphone silently buzzed again.

"That's why I hadn't intended to put myself through asking him," she pointed out. "But then you sent Cardshark and Spalpeen away. At least, I can only assume that was you - I took pains to downplay such impulses in their minds."

Freaking heroes. What else would a control-freak ESPer do, but basically puppet anyone she felt necessary, however much she felt she needed. For the greater good, Flug supposed. Ugh.

"Still," Y went on. "It will be pleasant to see him. It always is."

Elsewhere in the building, in another direction from the gunfire, an alarm bell began to sound. There was a series of booming sounds and screaming metal somewhere outside.

A high-end two-way radio on Y's desk crackled to life. "INSTRUCTOR Y, MA'AM, YOU HAVE TO EVACUATE, THEY'VE BREACHED THE BUIL-AAAAAH!" The voice cut off in a pained cry as there came a terrible chaotic noise - screaming and thumps and growls and crunching bones - as well as the relayed sound of gunfire. The walkie-talkie transmitted the entire time, even as the screams died down to gurgles. Someone else in the background began screaming more urgently; there was further gunfire, and someone yelling "Fall back - bullets aren't stopping it!" before the signal finally cut out.

Y sighed, glancing at the two-way in disappointment, before looking back to Flug. "Where were we?"

She knew the script. She knew her role. That wasn't good. That meant that she knew that she was doing questionable (at minimum) things in the name of her goal, and still consciously chose to do them. "Enjoy seeing your Mr. Hallow, I guess," Flug said, barely flicking his eyes in the rattling alarm's direction. Was that the Lab? "It's going to be the last thing you do. You might be able to bind Lord Black Hat for a little while, but then it's your time that's up." 

Instructor Y stared at him, eyebrows raised, smile finally faded.

And then she began to laugh. "You don't - you don't know! You don't even - oh, that's rich." She focused again. "Why do you think you were left alone here? It cost me Jeanne's keeper, but he was worthless anyway, as soon as you murdered her." Her mouth hardened. "You've brought me absolutely _everything_ I need _and_ informed me of how to use it."

Flug opened his mouth.

With a gut-wrenching shock and rumble, the sound and vibration of an (unexpectedly large) explosion from the direction of the pool shook the building on its foundations. The lights went out as dust rained down with the sound of crumbling stone, the sprinkler system activating.

Flug ducked aside and ran for the door. Y shouted but fired a moment too late - the bullet struck the door frame as he yanked the door shut behind him.

"THAT WAS AWESOME!"

He was nearly bowled over by Virtus running down the hall with Creeper thrown over his shoulder. Creeper's arms were wrapped around his full-looking backpack, and both boys were still wearing lab gloves and goggles, the smaller boy's appearing oversized. "Don't go that way," Creeper shouted, seeing Flug once they'd passed, heading toward the increased commotion at the transportation-heavy end of the building. "There might be a _teensy_ bit of radiation -"

Flug was right behind them. "I _specifically_ told you -"

"It was less than a microgram!"

"Creeper you duct taped it to multiple blocks of sodium!" Virtus yelled. "The pool _and_ the gym are _gone!_ "

"The school's already under attack! You could have left, you didn't need to -"

"I thought we were supposed to stick to the plan!" Creeper grinned infuriatingly at him, thin tail bobbing over Virtus' shoulder like a waving flag. "Hey did you check your phone?! You won't believe what -"

"Just get out of here!" Flug shouted, sneakers slipping on the sprinkler-wet tile floor as he peeled off through the open door of first-aid station. He didn't have to see Instructor Y leaving her office to know how close she'd be behind him, and getting caught up in the panicking crowd of students down the hall seemed like a bad idea.

The darkened infirmary, insulated from the noise and emergency lighting of the hallway, offered a moment to orient himself. He slammed the door, propping a chair beneath the doorknob and hoping that might at least slow Y down. There were windows at the back, opening onto the space between the school and the hill behind it, he knew - he'd seen them when he and Shadowshine had raided the cabinets for bandages for his hands two nights ago. All he had to do was get one open.

Easier said than done. Of all the ridiculous security measures, they were nailed - with old, painted-over nails - so that they couldn't open more than six inches.

It wasn't until he lifted his gaze from the nails that he saw the Hatship perched on the ridge outside, lit from a low angle by the school's outdoor emergency floodlights.

There was no time to appreciate the menacing imagery. There was thumping at the door as someone tried to force it open, the wedged metal chair screeching in a little more with each push. He turned to find something with which to pry the nails, eyes lighting on a heavy letter opener in the pencil cup on the nurse's desk.

There was a crash of masonry somewhere on floors above, and increased gunfire - evidently Dementia was having a blast. Probably told to increase the chaos. She was good at that. He wasn't sure where - where _he'd_ be, but 5.0.5. was probably guarding the Hatship in this situation. 5.0.5. would listen to him and get him the moment he needed to explain everything. He just had to _get_ there.

The first nail gave, pinging as it fell.

The chair legs gave a longer screech on the wet tile. The door was nearly open.

The other nail wouldn't pry loose. The letter opener slipped twice on the painted surface, slick from the sprinklers' water.

Another crash upstairs, enough to shake the now-useless hanging lamps.

"Oh, _enough,_ " Instructor Y snapped. The door exploded inward in a massive telekinetic shove, the back of the chair bending toward the seat and falling.

She stood in the doorway for a moment, sagging from the energy she'd expended, before she drew herself up and - still holding both revolver and iron poker - used her forearm to brush back a lock of hair that had escaped her bun. She huffed, walking toward the now wide-open window.

A glance told her all she needed to know. She uncocked the revolver and set its safety, lay the poker on the windowsill, and pulled the walkie-talkie that she'd clipped to her hip. "Marmot. He's outside. Trying to make for that ridiculous aircraft." She tucked the revolver into a shoulder holster that Flug hadn't noticed before, under her now-unbuttoned blazer. Then she took up the poker again and left.

Flug calmly (well, as calmly as was possible) waited several minutes before sliding out on the wet floor from the tiny space beneath the cabinet between the windows. It had been a terrible place to try to hide - if she'd so much as looked down she'd have seen him - but the Hatship had proved sufficient distraction, as he'd hoped.

They were going to be looking for him outside. All he had to do was find an approach to the Hatship that they wouldn't expect - like from the other side of the hill. He could access that from the monorail station or the hangar, obviously.

But first. stepping back into a corner where he could see both the door and the open window, he finally checked the phone.

He nearly dropped it.

It wasn't that the Lab Team had sent him (through Shadowshine, since they didn't have Jeanne's phone's number) a picture. It wasn't even what the picture was of, on a base level - at this point he didn't know why Instructor Y _wouldn't_ be hiding the plutonium core of an atomic bomb in the school lab's shielded containment. It would still be there - it was too large to have fit in Creeper's backpack, though he'd no doubt that the boy had tried.

No, the problem was that the core sphere was inscribed, over and over, in concentric and overlapping rings, with the eternal dissipation spell.

That... would be a way to deliver it to the rest of the spell. It might actually even accomplish something, if she got the timing right. If she could hold Black Hat in place with a strong enough binding for long enough...

It still didn't explain how she intended to make the binding permanent. If the permanent binding somehow worked, being forever trapped at a Ground Zero would be severely problematic even if the dissipation failed. The fact that Instructor Y seemed to believe that she'd solved that issue was troubling, to say the least.

There was another wall-rattling crash somewhere overhead, and the sound of something out in the hallway collapsing - ceiling or wall, it didn't matter. He was fairly certain that he heard Dementia giving a delighted whoop. It wasn't safe to stay here any longer.

He turned for the door, only to be greeted with another rumble of collapse, this one deafening. The hall immediately outside the infirmary was suddenly nothing but choking solid dark, and the ceiling inside was sagging badly, too.

They were going to be looking for him outside.

But the Hatship was _right there_. And he had to get out of the building.

And he _had to warn them._

And, surreptitiously peering from the open window, he couldn't see anyone at all on the floodlit lawn. The ridge looked fairly easy to climb.

He hauled himself through the open window, which led to him tumbling headlong into bushes six feet below. A few moments of thrashing got him to his feet on the gravel.

Flug didn't wait. He hit the lawn at a run, crossed the garage's access road, cleared the rest of the grass, and threw himself into climbing the rocky hillside.

There was enough near-flat space at the top, between the Hatship's stabilizing legs, that he was running again by the time he got to the hatch. He slammed into the closed hatch, pounding with both hands. "5.0.5.! 5.0.5., it's me, it's Daddy, I know it's weird but listen it's a psychic thing, let me in! Sweetie Black Hat's in danger -"

A jolt ran through the hatch under his hands. His heart leapt and he took several steps back in the scrub and gravel, watching the growing rectangle of light as the hatch lowered open.

"5.0.5.'s not here and I'll thank you to stop trying to manipulate my - my experiment."

Ice settled in the pit of Flug's stomach. That was his voice. His real voice.

He took a few more steps back, but never took his eyes from... his eyes. His goggles. His whatever-the-hell-it-really-was-that-was-not-a-paper-bag, which from this perspective, gave him the distinct impression that it was _also_ glaring at him.

He found himself facing his own pistol-sized disintegration ray, its high-pitched whine signaling that it was ready to fire. At him.

"Black Hat said I'd know the target when I saw it," the Flug that had been waiting in the Hatship announced. "You're the one that tried to get in last weekend, aren't you." The ray's aim remained steady.

Flug-who-was-not-Jeanne swallowed, hands up. "Please, you have to listen, this is _really important_ -"

There was an ominous click behind him - the sound of a cocking revolver. "Of course it is, dear."

Instructor Y. She was less than a meter behind him - he'd been trying to get in and hadn't noticed her arrival.

How the hell had she even gotten up here in high heels.

"You'll have to excuse my daughter," Y said pleasantly, advancing a few steps. "I'm afraid she got a dose of you and has quite lost her mind."

Flug made plans. He had since an early age - it seemed the only way to cope with existence, and more often than not, it worked. He'd created his own complex codification of potential issues so that, if he could classify the problem, he'd know what plans to enact in order to solve said problem. He was in fact quite proud of this system even though its complexity meant that he'd little hope of ever communicating it to anyone else.

Fortunately, he didn't have to communicate it to anyone else.

Flug-who-was-not-Jeanne looked himself in the bag and said, quickly and quietly, "Code six-six-six slash F fi-"

"Don't even try it!" Flug-on-the-Hatship shouted, but for just a moment, jerked the disintegration ray in a downward motion.

Flug-who-was-not-Jeanne dropped.

The ray fired.

Instructor Y shrieked. Unfortunately, thanks to the unevenness of the ground, and a suspicious readiness to move as soon as not-Jeanne did, her shriek was not due to what either Flug hoped.

"My _hair!_ " She shook her newly-shortened blonde locks out of her face. "I have a _Gala_ to attend, you reprobate!"

"Uh, _villain,_ " Flug-on-the-Hatship responded - when in doubt, pretend you meant to do that. Nevertheless, he took a step back, taking better aim, but the whine of the ray was still rising - it wasn't primed again yet.

There was a piercing whistle from the floodlit lawn at the base of the ridge; all three of them looked. Marmot was dragging something human-sized and swathed in electric-green across the grass, wrapped tightly in soap-bubble shimmering tentacles that sprang from the ends of his arms in place of hands. Whatever had eventually been done to her, Dementia wasn't moving now.

"There we are," Y said, cheerful again.

"Should've brought 5.0.5.," Not-Jeanne lamented, heart somehow plummeting further.

"You were why Black Hat said not to," Flug-on-the-Hatship muttered back.

Not-Jeanne's jaw dropped. They hadn't been sent to come get him. They'd been sent to dispose of him.

"Enough." Y trained the revolver on Flug-on-the-Hatship, jabbing into not-Jeanne's back with the end of the iron poker she still held in the other hand. "Now, if you'll both kindly -"

Flug-who-was-not-Jeanne twisted and lashed out with his legs, catching Y hard in the shins. She flailed backward, losing the poker in the process. She didn't lose her grip on the revolver, firing as she fell.

Flug screamed. Both of them.

Not-Jeanne had a fraction of a second to see the bloom of blood on Flug's lab coat before his counterpart crumpled forward, left hip shattered. He landed hard on the ramp, trying to scream and gasp for breath at the same time, and slid off the edge to the ground. Even trying to curl protectively around the injury made it hurt worse.

The disintegration ray clattered onto the dirt between them.

The biofeedback-keyed hatch began emergency closure.

Not-Jeanne got as far as lifting up, raising one hand, when Y's poker stabbed straight down into the disintegration ray, shattering the casing. The priming whine abruptly cut off.

"Well." She flung the remains of the weapon away, down the hill, lest he find some other way to utilize them. "That does simplify matters, thank you." She gestured at Not-Jeanne with the pistol, cocking it again. "Down the hill, please. I'll send Marmot up for _him_ shortly." She stabbed at the wound with the poker; Flug managed enough air in his gasping whimpers for another scream, before she brought the poker down on his head. He went still, slumped on his front, the stain of blood on the ground and on his coat visibly spreading. "Can't have you pulling any of those tricks you keep up your sleeve," she muttered.

Shaking and hollow-eyed - _his fault, his fault, what the hell had he done, what could he do_ \- Flug-who-was-not-Jeanne started down the hill, Y's revolver trained on him the entire time. "Do go on, carefully now," she said encouragingly. "It's not as though I'll push you. I won't have you injuring Jeanne's body any more than you already have."

He was halfway down, toward where Marmot was waiting with unconscious Dementia, when there was an unexpected roar from a little ways up the hill and to the side. Somehow, the glow that raced toward Y from just outside the school's emergency floodlights' reach seemed to be dim and dark and still eye-searing at the same time.

And then Shadowshine launched herself out of the dark from uphill, tackling Instructor Y with a clasped-fist bash to the head.

Y turning to look at the attack let Flug get out of the way before she could bring the pistol to bear; he ducked aside, slipped, and tumbled the last stretch to the lawn. Shadowshine rolled with Y in similar fashion, until all three of them were at the base of the hill, scraped and bruised.

Still blazing deep ultraviolet, Shadowshine sprang to her feet, entirely focused on Y as she drew her fist back and moved to leap forward again. Y didn't have time to raise either of her weapons. Flug turned, expecting to see Shadowshine beating the life out of the woman, and gave a start forward to try to help by disarming Y.

Only, that wasn't what happened. Shadowshine's cry cut off suddenly as she was snatched out of the air by Marmot's iridescent tentacle-arms. He wasted no effort - simply spun and flung her into the brick wall of the building behind them.

She struck like a rag doll at about the third floor, the impact enough to chip bricks, and - bio-luminescence extinguished - fell limp and still into the bushes below.

Flug stared for a second too long, turning to realize that Y, dusting herself off and rising to her feet, already had the gun trained on him again. "That's quite enough of that," she said dismissively. "Killing students, now. You really have crossed a line." She smiled at him. "You're just solving _all_ my problems this evening, aren't you."

And then she called out toward Marmot, without taking her eyes from Flug. "Toxin. Now."

Flug had just enough time to turn and see the tip of one of the tentacles shooting toward him before it jabbed through his pants leg at the thigh. It felt like fire exploding from the point of contact, and he opened his mouth, and then there was nothing but nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-----------------
> 
> Again, do not blame me for your chemistry experiments. :P
> 
> ...And also again, thank you so much for the comments!


	14. It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which There Are (Attempted) Restorations

[ Music: [You Are So Beautiful (Billy Preston) Dark Cover by Tommee Profitt (feat. Brooke)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JQ8zWIQFRWI) ]

Shadowshine stamped her foot impatiently and spun, thumping back against the brick wall of the steam tunnel. "Come _on,_ " she muttered, staring intently at her phone in her hands, green fluttering over her skin. She'd relayed the picture that Creeper had sent, but had yet to hear back from Flug.

"We gotta go," Haxxor said, reaching for the phone to distract her.

She held it away, glaring at him. "This can't wait!" she snapped.

"Neither can we," the boy pointed out. "Signal's sent!"

"But it's -"

She stopped, looking past Haxxor at the crowd of students cramming into the non-pipe side of the tunnel. "Okay." She looked at Haxxor again, the set of her shoulders changing. Her momentary green glow filtered into cyan. "Okay. Can you get everyone to the exit into the Shasta resort?"

His shoulders sagged. "Uh-oh." He lowered his head, sighed, and drew himself up. "Yeah."

"Right." She tamped down the green lighting in favor of maintaining the cyan. "Ravens, two of you with me." She found the face she was looking for. "And Alex. Everybody else, get moving; Haxxor's in charge. Pick us up with the others."

Haxxor didn't question. He turned, motioning the others ahead, as Alex and two of the Ravens threaded between them to reach her.

"Closest way out is the Wellspring," she said, glowing brighter for visibility and moving quickly back to the last intersection in the tunnel. "Ravens, gonna need you to hide us once we're above ground. Alex -"

"I get it, I'm insurance in case -"

The entire passage shook with the explosion of the pool - far enough away that the water wouldn't reach them, but close enough to rattle bricks loose. The lights failed - they heard surprised cries from the way they'd come, but it wouldn't take long for the others to get their flashlights going. A pipe down the tunnel they were passing broke loose at a joint, filling the passage with steam that, luckily, distance protected them from. There was absolutely no going back.

"Go!"

Not long later, they burst out of the Wellspring at ground level - as the facility was locked from the outside, they simply used the emergency exit. All possible alarms on the campus seemed to be going off at this point anyway.

The view of the school from the outside was unexpected, to say the least. The pool and gym wing was a smoldering crater, the upper stories seemed to be on fire, and there was giant winged top hat on spidery metal legs perched like a bloated tick on the low ridge between the school and the Roost and monorail station. Three helicopters rose up from behind the ridge, guns blazing - and didn't make it past the hat, two shot (and one swatted) out of the air with disturbing precision.

The lawn outside the school was a mass of panic, full of screaming students and honking cars trying to round the building from the garage. It looked like everyone that had a car was simultaneously trying to reach the road that left the grounds. Picking up others didn't seem to be going well either - students were throwing themselves at the vehicles trying to get in, at this point. Those that could fly were already escaping, staying low for fear of being shot down. Emergency floodlights outlined everything in sharp, blue-white lines.

A window on the third floor exploded outward. Someone - it looked like one of the security guards - tumbled to the second floor balcony below. The general panic increased accordingly.

"I'm not going in there," Alex said flatly. "You can't make me."

One of the Ravens turned her head to look at him. "Virtus is in there."

Alex leapt forward. "Let's go!"

Shadowshine, glow flickering out, grabbed him by the shoulder. "The others will be heading for the monorail if at all possible. We don't have to go in - we can take the jogging trails." She paused to pull her phone again, mouth set in a thin line, then jammed it back into her pocket. "Let's go."

Partway down the trail toward the end of the ridge, Shadowshine blinked. When she opened her eyes, she was lying on the grass, with Creeper, Virtus, Alex, and both of the Ravens that had come with her, all looking down at her.

"Oh." She sat up, disoriented. She wasn't even on the front lawn. This was the strip of lawn between the school and the hillside, just past the cafeteria. "...Crap."

\---------------------------

Smoke, jet fuel, burning plastic and vinyl, burning flesh and bone. Fire and brimstone and laughter. Everything hurt.

But nobody'd ever be able to say he hadn't done it. Lord Black Hat himself had said he'd never get into Hat Manor, and he'd gotten in, shattered and shredded and lying on burning carpet and stone and metal. For probably a few more minutes, he was alive to regret it, but he'd _done it._ Nobody'd ever call him a failure again. Not even Black Hat.

He couldn't stop laughing.

He realized that he wasn't the only one laughing - Black Hat was standing near him, smiling sharply, holding something like cloth in his hands. Flug suddenly thought that of all the people he had ever met in his joke of a life, only Black Hat seemed to get the joke, and he laughed harder, only to strangle into screaming from the pain. He couldn't think any more, couldn't breathe, couldn't see, but he could still hear Black Hat laughing. That was something. That was _his._

And then he couldn't hear for the pain, and dissolved into darkness.

A vertical line of bright-cold pale light cut into the dark. It widened, and continued to widen, revealing first a caped man standing with head held high and arms outstretched, then Instructor Y and Dick, and Jeanne standing slightly behind, with the Blackbird resting in a flat space amid wind-driven snow and rocks behind them. 

_He reached out for the cold in desperation, latching on to the vision despite the strange density and flavor. Any relief helped._

The floor of the tunnel they entered was as littered with boulders - no, some sort of full sacks - as the landing area outside had been. No, not sacks at all. Corpses, frozen for more than a quarter of a century. Everywhere. Sprawled on the cement, curled against the walls, filling the trucks stopped in the tunnel, clogging the way further in. Hopeless and abandoned with no rescue coming. Carefully dismembered and cooked, and then chewed whole and raw, having run on each other, and then on empty, until there was simply no more running, never mind hope. Driven out of the base to which this entrance tunnel led, more afraid of what waited there than what they were sentenced to here.

The Antarctic base was an underground city-state, farm lands and factories and housing, in a massive geothermal cavern - built in a place of curiously distorted time. The source of said distortion hung in mid-air in a concrete henge, seeping stillness. An attempted time-vessel had been built here without the realization that the experiment itself was what disrupted time here in the first place, in the past, in the future. The vessel had been bleeding out temporal anomalies in the decades since its failure, drawing in its own creators in the past, and the Y-Men in this past-present, and others in the future.

_There was a scent of burning - burning flesh, burning hair, jet fuel and metal and heat. He tried to turn away and follow the cold. It was no relief; the underlying fear in both visions felt the same._

Only one man survived in this cavern, and Jeanne, kind-eyed and radiating friendship, reached into the dark and took his hand. It made the man remember the human boy he'd been before being joined with the creatures that had eventually slaughtered all others in this place.

It was Magnetite that named him Marmot, for his voice. It was Jeanne's sincerity that won his loyalty, which was no small thing, according to his shoggoth-informed instincts. Once given, his allegiance was whole-hearted and irrevocable. He reveled in the smiling attention that Jeanne gave him, and the dirty looks Monobeam awarded him didn't matter in the slightest.

He watched Jeanne. He watched her duck away from Monobeam again and again, and saw the flickers of emotion on her face to which she couldn't give voice. He watched her shock and fear when they discovered that the Blackbird had been destroyed. He watched her when they joined hands to run, when the shoggoths attacked, no longer recognizing him as one of their own. He watched her cry out when she realized that Instructor Y had left them to overload the damaged time-vessel and cover their escape.

_He watched Jeanne. He felt the frustration in her silence. He felt the wonder and electricity when that frustration did not manifest elsewhere. He felt the confusion of anger and helplessness and the perverse, shameful tinge of hope at Y's departure._

The backlash from the time-vessel's destructive implosion changed everything, though it was years before any of them realized that they'd stopped aging. Y rejoined them in their cargo-ship escape a far more powerful an ESPer than she'd ever been before, speaking of a vision of a utopian future in which all humanity was truly free. Free to make their own decisions as never before, free to grow, free of all the shackles of guidance and temptation.

 _Please, I can't -_ With a rushing feeling, like sharply drawing freezing breath through every pore, Flug sensed a voice that wasn't his. In a shock of destabilization he felt as though he were falling, catching and breaking through marionette strings along the way. _I can't do this much longer -_

He suddenly realized the intense pressure in his head, and tried to shake himself free, only to have the pressure increase. He couldn't move - he was being held. Someone was bodily holding him and someone else had hands on either side of his head.

With a frustrated sound Flug tossed his head again, opening his eyes, falling still as he caught his breath and was finally able to focus. Marmot gripped him tightly in shimmering tentacles. The hands released; Instructor Y made a disgusted sound and turned away. Licking his lips revealed that the uncomfortable wet there was blood - his nose was bleeding again. So much for no more ESPer stuff.

The tentacles went a little slack, but tightened again the moment that Flug shifted. He stopped struggling in favor of trying to discern his surroundings - it looked like the Roost, but inexplicably empty. He was facing the back wall, he thought, but there should be aircraft here. If he turned his head as far as he could, he could just barely see... no, that wasn't landing gear at all. That was some sort of structure attached to a single rail. Not a train, but a rocket sled. And resting on that... It looked like a boxy old oversized missile with wings. Where did he know that design from...?

"The more I push, the more he resists. I could barely elicit any memory at all," Y snapped, grasping his chin and lifting his head painfully. "You'd have to be as accomplished a telepath as my daughter to keep me out. _How are you doing this?_ "

Flug half-smiled, collecting his spinning thoughts as best he could. "Maybe it's not me. Maybe you're losing your touch." He struggled to take stock of the situation - it was difficult to think. Probably lingering effects of whatever bio-toxin he'd been stabbed with. His gaze slid away from meeting Y's eyes, unfocusing. Plan, need a plan, identify goal - escape - identify obstacles - Y, Marmot, location...? - identify resources... Resources...

He'd gotten all his resources killed, hadn't he. Oh, fuck, he'd literally _gotten himself killed._ Y knew as much as he did about the not-actually-a-paper-bag; she'd know to either repurpose or destroy it. And if Black Hat had wanted him disposed of _before..._

He tried not to give in to the desperate hysterical laughter that bubbled up in his throat, but a little still escaped.

She pushed at his head as she let go, angrily turning away again. "Thank you, Dr. Flug, I'd forgotten for a moment that I was dealing with an absolute fool." She stopped and sighed, looking up at Marmot. "I'm sorry. Jeanne really is gone. There is nothing I can do to retrieve her this time."

"You're certain?" Marmot piped.

"I am."

The tentacles around him began to tighten. Flug lost his breath in a huff and couldn't draw it again -

"No, no, stop," Y said gently, laying a hand on Marmot's shoulder; the tentacles eased and Flug gasped, shaking. "I don't want the body damaged any further. I'll take him with me. He can fill in for her. It's not as though anyone will believe him if he tries to explain himself." She directed her attention back to Flug. "At worst, he'll be carted away for a psychiatric hold..." She smiled at him. "But I doubt he'd be amenable to such, so he'll behave. It's not as though he'll last much beyond the Gala, anyway."

She sounded strangely far-away; Flug blinked, realizing that the comforting faux-glasses were gone now. Lots of things were gone now. Shadowshine, the school, his home, his - his family, his life, his mind...

Instructor Y leaned in. "We must keep up appearances. You'll come with me and have a lovely time before you go, won't you." It wasn't a question.

 _You're assuming I want to exist at all in the first place,_ he thought bitterly, but felt too beaten to bait her by saying it aloud. "Whatever," he mumbled instead, licking his bloodied lips again.

"You've figured it out, finally, haven't you?" She chuckled. "The creature you think is your master wants you dead. He only wants the _real_ Dr. Flug; you're just an accidental psychic ghost killing my daughter's body as surely as your invasion took her from us." She stroked the wavy silver-violet hair back from his face, her smile much more gentle now. "I was angry. I'm sorry. You don't have to worry, as long as you're with us - I realize that you didn't mean to kill her and didn't have a choice in the matter. You're only a fool after all. You're forgiven."

Oh _hell_ now he had to put up with Y going _off_ again on top of everything else. He'd glanced up at her but lowered his eyes again. Given that he felt like he was freezing from the core out and had a pounding headache to boot, it wasn't difficult to fail to respond.

Marmot responded for him, growling in his strangely shrill tone. "No, he's not!" The tentacles started to squeeze again.

Y sighed and gestured dismissively at Marmot. It was like a switch flicked - Marmot stilled, tentacle-arms snug but not tight. The emotion was gone.

"I was afraid he might take it badly," she explained to Flug almost conspiratorially. "So I pre-programmed the poor dear. It's a shame, but we really don't want him being a problem, now, do we? He has his part of the project to complete."

This was not a conspiracy in which Flug was interested. He hung his head. What was the point in any of this? He'd failed, badly, and taken everyone that could do anything about it with him - and soon that seemed likely to even include Black Hat. Dr. Fail really _was_ what he should be -

Instructor Y looked to Marmot again. "Take him to the tail room of the Dassault. I'll be along shortly. Once you've locked him in, help secure the lizard girl and the _other one_ in the Cessna. Deliver her to Kern and him to the staging area. He can wait there for the ritual."

...Or, Dementia could be alive and headed for the prison from which the Ravens and company were plotting to break out as many prisoners as possible. And his - his _actual_ self was also alive. And also prisoner. And most likely still badly damaged. But not dead.

It changed the outlook a little for the hopeful, but only a little. Black Hat still wanted him dead - might even more now, if he learned just what had happened, because Black Hat did not _like_ having his property damaged. Whether that would be enough to enable Y enact her permanent binding or not, Flug couldn't say, but she was worryingly certain that it would work.

He didn't have a way to fix this.

Yet. He could barely think it, but that pinprick seed was there, a tiny hope so foreign that it might as well have come from someone else. He didn't have a way to fix this _yet._

"...Then return, arm the Silbervogel, and wait for my signal." She smiled pleasantly at Flug again. "Really, if I could trust you, I'd let _you_ pilot the Silbervogel. I'm sure you'd love it. But obviously that wouldn't be a very good idea, would it? I can't trust you if I can't come in." She patted him on the head.

 _That_ was how he knew the craft on the rocket sled - earliest design of a hypersonic bomber. She was using it to carry the atomic bomb with the dissipation spell. The ridiculous monorail wasn't ridiculous after all, but a camouflaged launch mechanism. And Marmot's non-human augmentation would let him pilot easily despite the Gs.

Flug was so stunned that he didn't say a word as Marmot dragged him away.

Locked in the tail bedroom of Instructor Y's private jet a few minutes later, Flug had little to do but wait. The interior design was too solid for him to find a way into the plane's wiring - he couldn't so much as cause an inconvenience from here, never mind ground the aircraft.

And Y knew it, obviously. She told him through the door to clean himself up and get some rest. She seemed to be unusually amenable, even going so far as to slip painkillers under the door for the headache she'd caused trying to invade his stolen mind. Why shouldn't she be in a good mood, he thought bitterly - nothing stood in the way of her plans now, and he'd even _helped,_ albeit accidentally.

He paced almost frantically at first, then sat on the floor hugging his knees, back to the bed, staring at the door of the room as though doing so could make something happen. No telekinetic abilities kicked in, and he just wound up with his head pounding even worse, rainbow zig-zags curving into his field of vision. He finally gave in and took the painkillers - the fact that they worked on this body still left him incredulous - and, tired of the taste of blood, did wash and change into the pajamas that had been lying on the bed. It would be expected; it would appear that he was being cooperative, and he might be able to use that. And if he was honest, it did feel a little better.

He stared at Jeanne's phone with its cracked screen for a long silent moment. There wouldn't be any more texts, now - but that would just make him angry and make it harder to think clearly if he dwelt on it. Still, the device might be useful later. He turned it off to conserve the battery - old enough that it was depleting faster than expected - and hid it under the mattress.

The painkillers weren't of the PM variety. He woke repeatedly from dreaming, from fire and metal and mayonnaise and anger, once to his nose bleeding again. Not even the eventual pressurization and drone of flight could lull him into restful sleep. He wasn't piloting so it just made him nervous.

The only helpful thing to come of the effort was that the last time he woke, with sunlight greying the horizon to the east, he'd finally thought of something he might do to help the situation.

\--------------------------------

So far as Flug could tell, Instructor Y had thought of everything. She'd had forty-five years to plan, she happily pointed out, apparently pleased that he seemed impressed. 

Dementia's inevitable escape? That didn't matter, because she only had to be delayed. Something happening to Y? Her pre-programmed "helpers", as she put it, would complete the "project". She'd plotted everything out up to and including implanting in park staff the knowledge that Badwater Basin area be off-limits for the duration, while her crew carved the circles and sigils and filled the carvings with molten alloys to enhance the spells. That alone had encompassed the past several months - she'd just returned from inspecting the completed project when he and Shadowshine had been brought back after stealing the Blackbird.

"The Silbervogel's the real thing, even," she told him, standing behind him and combing his hair. "I'm sure you can appreciate that. It turns out that the only prototype was built at that base in Antarctica, but the ship on which we escaped never delivered it to Germany, obviously. The end of the war got in the way I suppose. It's taken a long time, but it's quite effective to use it rather than attempting to purchase or construct some other delivery method that could have been tracked and investigated."

"It's a waste. It was designed to be a long-range bomber and you don't even need it to fly the length of California." Flug scowled at his reflection in the full-length mirror of the jet's bedroom. Rather than using a hotel room when they'd landed, Instructor Y had decreed that they would simply use the amenities they'd brought with them. So, she'd seated him in front of the mirror to tend to his hair, all but calling him Jeanne in the process. It was galling. All of it. As if she didn't already make his skin crawl, with the way it was difficult to keep her face in mind.

"Au contraire. Waste not, want not," she chided. "This way, that craft will finally not only fly, but make history in a much more important way than its creators ever dreamed. For the good of all humanity, not only their own people." She tugged at his hair a little roughly, having found a knot despite the fact that he'd cut it off at barely shoulder length. "Besides, it will avoid some of the design issues with re-entry."

Well, there went the hope that she might end her own plan by not having researched the Silbervogel enough. "So was it funding for the monorail to launch it that held you up this long? Or researching the spells?"

"Both. Magnetite eventually came through with the money, though." She tugged at his hair again; he winced as she pulled the knot. "You did a _terrible_ job cutting my daughter's hair, by the way. It's been very difficult to hold my tongue for past few days."

He folded his arms. "I'm surprised that you managed," he grumbled. Now that she'd decided to _keep_ him, she was outright talkative. "I wish you'd just shot me."

"Oh, I know you don't mean that. Besides, I was never going to shoot you. I only needed you to be obedient." She set to combing again.

"You shot _at_ me."

"Did I hit you?"

"You shot the, um, other me." He tried not to think about it.

"Oh, that was just a happy accident. But it did make things easier to handle, I'll give you that."

 _No, 5.0.5. is a happy accident._ He swallowed, trying not to think about what his most beloved experiment must be going through right now. It definitely wouldn't do to bring him up - he knew he wouldn't be able to keep it together if she decided she wanted to talk about his son. "No, that - that was openly homicidal. You don't actually have to deny it, you know. Think about who you're talking to." _Please think about who you're talking to. Stop trying to make me your daughter just because I'm in her body. I don't think she'd be into this either._

She chuckled indulgently, as though they were talking about something else entirely. "Oh, fine, maybe just a little."

It was chilling. Flug regularly dealt with all manner of villains, but be they monomaniacal, in love with violence, in the thrall of greed, or misunderstood, the common factor in each interaction was that _they_ came to _him._ Well, to the Black Hat Organization. They came seeking help, or employment, or even just prestige, and placed their trust in the BHO. But this? This woman was more of a villain than a good portion of BHO customers, and able to maintain near-complete denial of that fact, because she was convinced that she was acting for the greater good. If she could just get past the denial, she could _really_ wreak some havoc. It'd change her entire focus, so that wouldn't happen, but. If.

Ugh. Was this what heroes trying to redeem villains felt like? Frustrating. Not quite, though. If it didn't mean that her plan would automatically be carried out, he'd just grab the scissors she'd trimmed his hair with and stab her through the eye right now.

"I suppose I should thank you," she added as she toyed with his hair. She'd had her own hair shortened entirely to deal with the damage the disintegration ray had done, but insisted on styling Flug's herself. "I was afraid to face dear Mr. Hallow with my plan at this stage. I was afraid that he would try to talk me out of it. It's so difficult to resist his charm - I'm sure you understand."

"Mm." Flug did not, and gave the most noncommittal response he could. As long as he did what she told him, she'd hand him the only opportunity to stop her that he'd been able to think of. All he had to do was let her dress him up and take him with her to this stupid freaking Heroes' Gala like an accessory. At least she wasn't down to calling him Jeanne to his face, but he wasn't sure she wouldn't before this was over.

So he let Instructor Y stand behind him and pretend, without admitting it, that he was Jeanne. It was surreal and horrifying on multiple levels, but as long as she couldn't read his mind - however she was shut out, it was at least still in effect - all he had to do was tolerate the sickening attention and wait.

"...But you removed my opportunity to avoid him. So, thank you. It really is much better this way. If speaking with him changes my mind, my mind _should_ be changed. But I don't think that's what will happen."

Her hands stilled in his hair. What would be his hair for the rest of his life, he supposed.

"I really do understand, you know," she offered, laying her hands on his shoulders. "I was able to glean thoughts of your emotions from Hana. You truly love that demon, even when it's not _you_ that he owns."

He didn't have to fake his flinch at her words, but it was difficult not to laugh and spit at her that she understood nothing. "It's not like that," he murmured quietly, eyes downcast. She could interpret the red that rushed to his cheeks however she wanted.

"Oh my dear," she said warmly, her smile in the mirror rueful. She combed at his hair again, pulling as much back as she could. "Of course it isn't. A powerful being that, so long as you obey him, gives you anything and everything you want. Except his heart, for he has none - but surely that is an illusion, given his treatment of you." She chuckled again. "Of course he hurts you; he simply doesn't understand his own feelings. Such a pretty fairy tale." She gave up with mere combing and reached for one of the disturbingly myriad bottles of styling product. "It's not the first time I've seen someone as frightening as yourself display such feelings, but it may be the most extreme case I've seen. But I suppose love can make monsters of us all. What came before must have been unimaginably terrible, to have driven you to give yourself to him so completely."

Crap, he'd completely tuned out her patronizing babble for a minute there, and she seemed to expect some kind of response now. He mentally backtracked as she pawed some floral-smelling chemicals into his hair.

He was certain that she'd take exception, if he tried to explain that being forced to "love" and "forgive" blood relations no matter what they did to you was abject torture. A different shade of truth would suffice. "I was never treated as well as he treats me," he said, his voice low. Internally, he smirked; no stupid invasive conversations like this, no oversight committee to report to, no ethics council, unlimited resources... No, he needed to stop, he'd just start making himself too homesick to think again.

"That's quite sad, given how he abuses you."

Oh, for crying out loud. He bit back snapping at her that those who worked with wild animals would not consider it abusive should they be attacked. "It's still better," he tried.

"Better doesn't make it right."

What did she want? Was she expecting him to agree with her idiotic interpretation of something she obviously couldn't understand? Ugh. "I owe him." Well, technically he'd paid up front, but again, what did she want?

She wound his hair around one finger, reaching for bobby pins to secure it. "The real Dr. Flug might owe him," she pointed out. "But you, my dear, are only a fading echo. You do realize, don't you, that it was your eagerness to return to that creature that doomed you? You got too close, when you tried to fly back to him. Surely you know what his presence does to telepaths. You've been decaying ever since."

...Shit.

It hadn't been, or hadn't just been, what he'd done in the Wellspring, or what he'd reflexively done to Dick. And Alex wouldn't have been able to revert the body's state far enough to actually reverse the damage if it started that far back, either.

He _couldn't_ go home. Ever. Not even if Y was wrong in her estimate of how little time she'd left him after trying to batter her way into Jeanne's brain.

He couldn't control the way his breath quickened as he teared up. 

He was never going to see his lab or his experiments or his collections or even Dementia again.

He sniffed loudly, raising his hands to his face. _He was never going to see 5.0.5. again._

Instructor Y patted his shoulder. "You poor dear. At least your last evening will be lovely, and the world you're leaving will be much better shortly."

He wanted to scream at her to _shut up_ but his voice choked in his throat.

 _He was never going to see Black Hat again._ Nothing was ever going to go back to normal and he was never getting back what he'd had. Goddammit, he'd been trying so hard not to think about it, and she just - she - _dammit._

"There, there." She pushed a few tissues into his hands. "Let it all out before we do your makeup, hmm?"

Everything that mattered in the world was taken from him. Everything he'd worked for and cared about, all beyond his reach. He'd done the unthinkable, irrevocably signed over his very soul to the living incarnation of evil, to get what he wanted - and somehow he'd still fucked it up.

There wasn't much way for this to get worse, Flug thought, struggling to reign in his involuntary reactions. But all he had to do was get through this. If he could just make it to the Gala and keep control of himself long enough, if he could just stay alive long enough, he could get to the one person that might be able to put a stop to this entire mess. The one person who _should_ instantly recognize the danger posed by Y's plan and not assume that the world would be better off without Black Hat.

The being that Instructor Y had codenamed Mr. Hallow, for the sake of preventing accidental invocation.

White Hat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \-----------------------
> 
> I'm sorry for taking so long to get this chapter up.
> 
> But now, you see the true horrible depths of my depravity.  
> This entire fic was all an elaborate excuse to put Flug in a dress.  
> (I'm joking!)
> 
> Thank you for reading and commenting!  
> p.s. ...And then I realized that actually yeah I do still have nightmares about my mom doing my hair to this day. -_-;  
> 


	15. Hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is, finally, recognition

[ Music: [No One Will Save You by Aviators](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DqdyyxdZ4cQ)  
[You Belong To Me by Cat Pierce](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KkBEnIoRqWw) ]

This was hell. This was the most impossible, intolerable thing Flug had experienced in years, and most of the torments he'd suffered over the course of his life - and there had been a lot of them - didn't compare.

His ears itched from the drop earrings; he hadn't even noticed before that Jeanne's ears were pierced, given how much he tried to avoid inspecting this body. The bead-draped choker felt like a collar threatening to choke him. The elbow-length black gloves hid the cuts on his hands but made it difficult to grip anything. The shoes were confining and already rubbing painfully at his heels, and their soles were impractically smooth (why in the world would anyone wear shoes that would send them sprawling like these!), but at least they were flats. The bodice of the gown was tight and made it difficult to move - hopefully it would hold the cellphone he'd tucked into it without showing its outline, but there was just no other way to hide it in this ridiculous costume. The skirt was filled out with stiff netting so much that it made it impossible to navigate, never mind uncomfortable to sit. Even what Y had done to his hair felt awful, pulled back tight and sprayed and pinned into place with a few locks left free at the front to tickle his face.

And then she'd put _makeup_ on his face and a few inconvenient bruises and scrapes that the dress didn't cover. It _smelled._ He'd rather have the chemical undertones than have her decide he needed some cloying perfume, but it was still distracting. His _real_ sense of smell was diminished - too much fire and chemicals - but Jeanne's seemed to process _everything._ It was nauseating.

At least it wasn't the glittering pale dress that Jeanne had been wearing in one of her videos. There were silver and amethyst accents, but the majority of the dress was black, the lilac at the hem rapidly fading dark. "Because Jeanne would be in mourning, obviously," Y explained.

She'd dressed him up like a doll, with no more consideration for him than she'd shown when she'd told _him_ how _he_ felt (ha!) about Black Hat. She had a vision to fulfill and anything that didn't fit her script just didn't exist.

At this point, Flug could admit that he pitied Jeanne quite a bit. She'd never been allowed to live her _own_ life and never been able to free herself. So far as he could tell, she'd only just begun to realize how manipulated and imprisoned she was by the time she'd died.

Y's own dress was far more simple, a straight black sheath with a disturbingly deep neckline. It brought neither "mourning" nor "hero" to Flug's mind - it looked like she should be openly armed and probably masked and subjugating her enemies (though, well, she was). But he'd have been just as uncomfortable wearing anything like it, so what did he know. He kept his mouth shut.

He wondered, staring out the tinted limousine window at the sunset, what kind of weapon Y should be carrying. Probably a whip. With her sort it was always a whip. She hadn't stopped her kind-and-encouraging chatter the entire time. The only further relevant data he'd been able to glean was that she meant to detonate the dissipation spell-bomb at dawn.

It was full dark by the time their car's turn at the venue's carpeted entrance came. Instructor Y stepped out first, and for a moment she stood with her back to him in flashbulb lightning, and he wanted to do nothing so much as dart out the other side of the car and make a run for it. But he'd have stood little chance in this getup, and the uniformed man that had gotten the door was already reaching for his hand, and Y turned to him with a soft, sad, entirely calculated smile. If he tried to run, the entire area was filled with cheering crowds that she could set on him with a thought.

 _Stick to the plan._ He took the offered hand and stepped out of the car, and only slipped a little as he straightened up.

Instructor Y smiled wider and he felt absolutely sick. He reminded himself that all he needed to do was find White Hat and talk to him. White Hat would listen, even if he didn't believe at first. He would believe. He had to.

Getting into the building housing the Heroes' Gala - a magnificent repurposed French Baroque theater - was an excruciating gauntlet of frequent stops, few steps between said stops, camera flashes, and too many excited voices to separate out a single one. And he was surrounded by so many _heroes_ even before they got through the doors that it made him even more nervous. He glanced over his shoulder a little too often, half convinced that at any moment he'd be tossed into a wall or kicked to the roof or have a trash can slammed down on his head.

"Relax, my dear, you're among friends," Y said, taking his hand in hers. "I assure you, no harm will come to you here. So long as you don't bring it upon yourself of course." She smiled sweetly.

"I'm trying," he muttered, eyes darting about. Imamba, Lord Greyskunk, Reefblade and Coral... He didn't even recognize all of these people. There were probably plenty of civilian guests here too. That was the Barbarian Brothers, with suits stretched over their disproportionate muscles so that they looked like Hatbots. God, they were even letting Carver take that stupid oversized sentient sword of his inside. Were they not even doing a weapons check? They weren't, were they. Of course they wouldn't _have_ to, with these guests. Ugh.

Oh god, what if Goldheart was here? Oh no no no -

If anything, it was worse inside. The air was closer, the crowds less controlled and more varied with a vast assortment of sizes, awkward wings and tails and limbs, loud voices, and each individual a greater potential threat. Focusing on following Instructor Y actually _helped_ \- which was galling in and of itself.

This was a mistake. He didn't see White Hat anywhere. He thought he might have seen one of White Hat's companions once or twice, but the crowd was too jumbled to be certain. People kept stopping them to offer the quick, insincere condolences of polite acquaintance. By the fourth time that someone hugged him after being granted permission by Instructor Y, rather than himself, Flug wanted her dead all over again.

He couldn't even try to get drunk. It was a hero-oriented charity ball, and such fine upstanding citizens had no need of liquor at their events, Y assured him with a smile as she handed him a fountain soda from the bar.

His head hurt. At least sitting on a bench along one wall offered him space to collect himself, even if the damned skirt did take up the entire seat. He sat the fluted glass in a potted plant next to the bench and leaned back against the cool marble wall as Y fielded conversations a few feet in front of him. Maybe now he could sneak away from her. He felt better than he had since they'd arrived, at least. Peaceful, even. The crowd didn't seem so pressing all of a sudden, and the exit was just down that hallway over there...

"Ms. Gris! Please forgive my intrusion, but I wanted to be sure this evening to offer my sincerest condolences regarding your loss."

Flug's head snapped to the warm caramel voice to his side, in the direction he hadn't been looking, and an almost painful feeling stabbed through his chest.

White Hat had found _him._ Bright and pale with touches of royal blue and built like a cool ranch Dorito, all safely blunted and rounded edges and friendly demeanor. And clearly, while he wasn't as strongly projecting that aura that Jeanne had loved, it was still present.

"I hate you," Flug blurted out.

White Hat's position didn't change - he'd bent, one hand on his cane and the other inoffensively behind his back, so as to not tower too intimidatingly over the person he thought was Jeanne. But his brow furrowed in confusion to the point that he nearly dropped his squared-off (and completely unnecessary) monocle. "Pardon?"

If White's (admittedly muted) sunshine-and-puppies aura had improved Flug's mood, his consternation enhanced the effect tenfold. Unfortunately, the exclamation had been completely unhelpful, considering the situation. Flug winced at himself. "No, wait, sorry, I -"

"My dearest Mr. Hallow!" Instructor Y edged into their line of sight, beaming.

Flug saw White's gaze, as he straightened, flick down to take in exactly how deep the V of Y's neckline plunged, then flick back to him, silently communicating concern despite the fact that his features smoothed pleasantly. Then he focused back to Y's face as she animatedly engaged him. "Yolanda, my darling, how have you been? I am so sorry to meet you again under such tragic circumstances." He glanced back again at Flug, who had lifted his hand behind Instructor Y's back, mouth still open from being cut off. "To be honest, I'm surprised that you chose to attend."

"Oh beloved," Y fairly purred. She couldn't hide how pleased she was with herself now; she was too excited at her plans coming to fruition. "We couldn't pass up the opportunity to be among friends. You're so important - you're all so important to us in trying times like these." She slid her hands around his notable bicep with no pause to seek permission.

"It _is_ quite important to be there for one another," White Hat admitted, looking down at the contact before laying his hand over hers and letting her direct him away, though he glanced back at Flug once more.

Black Hat would've incinerated her for the familiarity. If she was lucky.

And that was the problem. That was the whole problem with this plan. Flug had to somehow deal with the visceral revulsion in him that White Hat unfailingly generated. He was just so... _wrong._ He artificially magnified the heroic tendency toward self-denial, and it was all the more visible to Flug because of his own experience. Creatures like him did _not_ have to behave like that; there was nothing inherent about it. He detested the pains that White Hat went to in order to make himself approachable and inoffensive and _the complete opposite of Black Hat,_ from shaping his teeth to be more human-like to controlling his temper (and Flug knew that he _did_ have one). He was just so desperate to be _liked,_ so far as Flug could tell, and liked by humans in particular, that it was disgusting. What was the point of existing when you were an eldritch monstrosity that attempted to excise the monstrosity part? There was no such thing as an eldritch _blessing._

Granted, Flug knew that a significant portion of his perspective on White Hat's inherently flawed personality came from Black Hat's ranting, and so might possibly be biased. But he'd had the misfortune of enough past interaction to find every complaint, to his mind, justified.

He closed his eyes and hung his head. This would be a long evening. He'd just have to try again.

"Isn't he _marvelous?_ "

Flug looked up - Y was standing in front of him, but looking further off in the room, to White Hat's receding figure. She sighed. "Best enjoy this now. It will all be quite different, soon. Not that you'll be around to see it." She smiled sweetly at him. "Come now." She extended her hand to help him up. "I found something a little stronger for you to take for your headache. So that you might enjoy the evening a little longer."

The dinner portion of the evening was excruciating - not because of his head hurting (it subsided thanks to the meds Y provided, and turned up only as a dull dissociated throb thereafter), but because the meal was peppered with self-congratulatory speeches from the relevant charity's donors and board members. Flug barely touched his food, out of apathy more than anything else, and wondered idly if the provided cutlery might be able to saw through skin. Meh, why bother.

Even the one-sided conversation between Carver and his sentient sword (which had been provided its own seat at their shared table) wasn't enough to make the time pass any more quickly.

By far the worst part, however, was the repeated recognition of Jeanne and Instructor Y regarding their recent tragedies - the deaths of Livewire's team had been reported to be a simple transportation accident, apparently. Flug kept his head down. Y offered weak calculated smiles and nods of thanks every time, thriving on the attention.

The moment it was feasible at the end of the meal, he tried to leave the table, but Y clamped her hand over his wrist, forcing him to wait. "You seem so eager to dance," she hissed. 

"Are you - never mind, you really are out of your mind," Flug grumbled, settling again. What did it matter?

"You think that Mr. Hallow will help you," she said, easing her grip - and letting her hand slide down to hold his.

Flug yanked his hand out of hers.

"Don't think he'll listen to you."

He smirked. "If you want to stop me trying, you're welcome to attack me now." He pointedly looked around the room.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Jeanne." Y sat back in her chair. "I only mean that you shouldn't waste his time. I let him know about your delicate mental state after all the terrible things that happened this past week."

"Gee, thanks, Mom," Flug spat, and was rewarded with a broad smile from Y.

"I tell you what, sweetheart," she offered, pushing her chair back. "Go on. Go do whatever you want. Throw a fit, run away, go try to save your beloved." She snorted derisively at the way his mouth twisted. "None of it matters any more, does it? It's too late." She stood, brushing her sheath dress straight again. "The golden age of mankind is about to begin. There's no stopping it."

She walked away, head held high, beaming again.

He didn't watch her go, but he got to his feet, the overfull skirt nearly knocking down the chair in the process. She was out of her head, high on some fragmented vision of a potential future she thought she knew how to create regardless of what it took to get there. It didn't make her right.

It didn't make it less of a problem.

It took far too long to find White Hat again - Flug was _almost_ reduced to initiating contact with someone and _asking._ He wound up exploring the renovated theater for half an hour (during which he was at least able to avoid the other attendees for the most part), finally finding a door on an upper floor that led to a balcony over the main part of the theater. The stories-tall room had been converted to a ballroom, with an orchestra on stage. Two layers of balconies and boxed seats lined the upper stories, and had apparently all been locked, except for the last door Flug had tried.

He'd been avoiding the ballroom, dreading the prospect of the crowd, hoping that he'd find White Hat elsewhere. At least a balcony would provide him a safe vantage point from which to investigate.

It was someone else's safe vantage point. Flug froze in the doorway, one hand on the brass handle and the other on the frame. There was a figure sitting precariously on the rail with one leg dangling down - wearing an incongruous paper bag. Someone who was, upon assessing the lack of actual threat, hastily tucking a pistol that had briefly been aimed at Flug back into his trench coat.

"I was looking for White," Flug said by way of apology for the disturbance. He tried not to cringe, reminding himself that it wasn't as though he'd be recognized. Even if this was the most tolerable member of White Hat's entourage, he wasn't sure that it would be worth the time to try to explain everything to him. White would be less suspicious.

The other jerked his thumb toward the dance floor below, folding his arms.

"Right, sorry. Of course." Flug sighed, glancing down, though from his position only the stage was visible. "Thanks, Slug."

He ducked back out of the room again, descending the stairs a little quickly (because what excuse could he come up with, now, to avoid the ballroom?) until the slick-soled shoes nearly sent him flying and his gloved grip on the railing nearly didn't save him. He was a little more careful after that, but still wasted no time entering the ballroom and making his way along the wall. It wasn't easy to scan the room given that Jeanne wasn't actually very tall, and a lot of the heroes attending, well, were.

There he was. White Hat was already surrounded by a gaggle of gowned heroines and appreciative heroes even as he stepped from the dance floor, all vying for his attention. Flug struggled to make his way through the crowd, cringing at every unintentional touch.

"Ms. Gris!" White Hat smiled, all pleasant charm regardless of the fact that Flug was scowling and had openly pushed at least two others out of the way to get to him. "Would you care to dance?"

"I don't dance," he responded, raising his hands defensively. "Listen, I -"

"Nonsense," White said, taking his hands. "Jeanne Gris is a marvelous dancer. Your body will remember even if you do not."

"Yeah," Flug muttered, letting himself be pulled toward the dance floor. Evidently Y had given him the amnesia story. At least she was less likely to interrupt if they were on the dance floor. "About that. I'm not actually Jeanne Gris."

White looked down at him (and Flug hated that Jeanne was only tall enough for eye-level to match his shoulder-level), and raised one eyebrow, or what passed for eyebrows for him. Flug was struck, as he sometimes still was with Black Hat, by the clearly learned behavior - human expression wasn't a biological use for antennae. Flug caught the momentary flare of nostril-slits as well.

But White nevertheless positioned Flug's hands, one at his shoulder and the other delicately supported to the side rather than held, and politely lay his hand on the side of the dress' disgustingly sparkle-encrusted bodice. He spoke as he caught the orchestra's beat and drew them into the turning clockwork of dancers.

"I had noticed that your scent is a little different," he admitted. "And I admit to being troubled by the undertone of blood. It's not as expected for a human. Are you wounded...?"

"No - well, kind of. But yeah, that's - that's another problem." How long did he have until the pain meds wore out, anyway?

"Please, do elaborate."

"Right. Um." He swallowed, dimly noting that White was correct; he seemed to be not only moving appropriately with the music for the first time in his life, but letting himself be led. Leading had always been such an issue, when he'd had dance lessons forced on him in school. "Well. It's complicated. Basically, last week Jeanne was telepathically in... someone's... head, and they... died, but instead of just being able to break the connection she kind of... absorbed them. Me."

White Hat was silent for a few bars of music. "This is not an unheard of circumstance," he said thoughtfully. "What of Jeanne?"

"She's dead."

Flug could feel the slight sag to White's shoulder under his hand as White lowered his head. He seemed genuinely sad, as though Jeanne had been a good friend - but if they'd been that well acquainted, surely White Hat would've been more familiar with how Jeanne had been treated, wouldn't he? He'd have known and _helped_ her. He _should_ have. That White Hat would react like this to hearing that someone he knew so little was dead was just _gross._

Flug clamped his jaw shut and tried not to roll his eyes at the disingenuous display.

White Hat finally seemed to collect himself. "To whom am I speaking, then? Richard?"

"Hell no," Flug snorted, but it occurred to him that it might be better to play things a little closer to the vest. "Listen, that's not what's important. It's complicated. See, back in the seventies there was this incident in Antarctica where among other things, Instructor Y's powers got boosted. You knew about that, right? But that was when she had this vision that she got really obsessed with -"

"Are you certain that you're not an alternate personality of Jeanne's? With some of the things I know she's been through -"

"No, I'm not. I mean not an alternate. Shush. Instructor Y -"

"Does this have to do with why she's dressed like a villain this evening?"

White Hat might be an insufferable misguided bore, but he was not unobservant, and thankfully was bright enough to figure out when something was wrong. And if he was forgetting his precious manners enough to interrupt like this, he was concerned. "I think she's more going for triumphant mastermind. She doesn't think she's a villain. That's the problem, she -"

"What has she done?"

There was some stir outside the ballroom - a few raised voices that quickly silenced. Some small contention among the guests, probably. Hardly unheard of at this kind of gathering, but White Hat flicked his gaze up toward his companion in the balcony for just a moment.

Flug took a deep breath. "Instructor Y has spent the past forty-five years orchestrating a plot to kill Black Hat."

White Hat made a choking sound, mouth clamping shut, and Flug realized that he was trying not to burst out laughing. "I see," he managed, voice a little strained. "I'm sure that will go over well."

 _No!_ "You don't understand," Flug said quickly in desperation. "She's researched -"

White sighed, giving Flug's hand a squeeze that was surely intended to be heartening, not dismissive. "Please, don't trouble yourself," he said gently. "I'll talk to her. I'm sure this is a misunderstanding, but regardless, it wouldn't do for her to endanger herself by enraging my counterpart."

"Yes. Yes, do that," Flug said, nodding. Evidently White Hat's previous conversation with Y had been uneventful. "But please, if you could warn Black Hat -"

"I could, if you truly believe there to be a threat, though I doubt that he will be concerned." White's grip shifted subtly as the music built to its climax. "But you didn't answer, before. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking, if not Jeanne?"

The song peaked as he twirled Flug into a dip. 

"Dr. Flug."

White Hat dropped him.

And caught him on near-invisible tentacles of magic, recovering almost instantly, though his eye narrowed. An observer would likely think the move had been calculated.

Flug knew better.

The murmur that had been largely outside the ballroom swept inside as the song ended.

"Dr. Flugslys," he said in a lower tone of voice, a little less warm than it had been, "You... _You,_ of all people, took over Ms. Gris' body? What was she _doing_ that -"

"It's not like it was intentional!" Flug hissed. "You think I _want_ to be in here? Y _knows_ and she _still_ did this to me -"

"Come now, the woman is _grieving!_ " White exclaimed. "No wonder she - Flug she's lost her daughter and- and son-in-law? Future son-in-law? _And_ a group of team members in some accident, all In a matter of _days,_ and you've come up with some ridiculous _conspiracy theory_ -"

They were simply standing facing each other now as the other pairs of dancers shifted in the pause between songs. "This is why I didn't want to tell you! Listen, just because she might be grieving, and believe me the jury's out on that, it doesn't mean she's not off her rocker -"

"Have you no _decency!_ "

People were beginning to stare, but White Hat collected himself, giving the orchestra on the stage a wave to continue and a smile in which Flug could see the strain.

When the orchestra didn't immediately continue, White Hat looked up at them again, noted that most of the musicians seemed to be staring across the room, and followed their gaze.

The crowd had cleared away significantly, providing a wide aisle across the dance floor. At one end, near the stage, White Hat stood with Flug.

At the far end, backlit by the open double doors of the ballroom, stood Black Hat. He had apparently been waiting for White Hat to notice him, leaning on his cane with both hands and leering expectantly.

White Hat blinked. "You... are crashing the Heroes' Gala," he sighed. "I suppose it's just going to be that sort of evening, isn't it."

"Crashing? Oh, I'm _hurt,_ " Black hat responded, the grin never leaving his face as he cheerfully approached, shoes clicking ominously on the dance floor. "I donated and purchased my ticket just like everyone else here. I simply chose to arrive fashionably late."

 _You mean you skipped the boring part,_ Flug mentally filled in. He took several steps back, swallowing against the noticeable increase of pain-pressure in his head. It was muted - whatever Y had given him at dinner seemed to be something _much_ stronger than before - but nevertheless there, slowly sharpening.

" _You_ donated to the Heroic Preservation Society?" White asked incredulously.

"The poor things need all the help they can get," Black Hat said with mock sincerity, fingers momentarily becoming claws as he twirled his cane into non-existence. "But please. There's no need to allow my arrival to cast a pall on the proceedings. Do continue." He gestured to the orchestra himself, and this time, they did not get a choice about beginning to play again - though Saint-Saëns' Danse Macabre had probably not been on the original playlist.

White Hat seemed to reach the conclusion that this was not an interaction that would be problematic; Black Hat was apparently only seeking to cause as much social discomfort as possible. He brightened visibly - though unfortunately to Flug it only evidenced how much of a facade his demeanor tended to be. "You're absolutely welcome, of course! Provided you behave appropriately."

"When have I ever behaved inappropriately?" Black Hat asked sweetly, but chuckled. "Don't answer that; we'll be here all night."

White Hat laughed as well and it didn't even sound forced. He glanced about to the heroes and other guests, and waved them on. "Certainly one of the more novel Galas in recent memory, then," he said aloud as the slow beginning of the piece drew the bravest of the others back onto the dance floor. "But I believe I'll sit this one out for the moment. I do have other matters to attend to." He glanced up at the balcony again. By his own espoused beliefs, he was bound to allow this intrusion so long as there was no trouble, and Slug would alert him if there was any. It wasn't _completely_ impossible that Black Hat could attend the Heroes' Gala without it turning into some overblown debacle, and at least all present should be well aware that Black Hat could not instigate a direct conflict, only react should he be attacked.

As he turned to leave the floor, White Hat caught Flug with the flat of his hand between the shoulder blades, giving a push forward. "Go on, then."

For a moment after he stumbled a step toward Black Hat, Flug only stood and stared, head swimming. He had to run, he couldn't - even if he couldn't feel the pain of it properly right now, being this close to Black Hat was going to _kill him,_ and he couldn't - he didn't even know how long -

Fuck it. If this didn't work, nothing would.

Black Hat watched him, curious as to why White Hat would have singled this particular woman out to present to him. It was unexpected that White would do any such thing, and that made it _interesting._

Flug straightened, head up, shoulders back, and extended his hand to be taken. There was no request to it, only demand.

Black Hat took his hand.

For almost two full minutes, dancing with Black Hat was a weirdly enchanting experience. Flug didn't slip or stumble if he didn't think about what his body was doing. His head was beginning to throb, heart pounding, but in the spell-like circles woven on the dance floor, he forgot that he had anything to say. He couldn't remember the last time that he'd been in this close of contact with Black Hat without it involving some variety of inflicted pain - had that ever even happened before? It was even difficult to recall the ridiculousness of the situation when all he could see or think about was Black Hat's perfect grace and how pleased he seemed to be - and it was a struggle to keep in mind that it wasn't actually _him_ with whom Black Hat was pleased. It was himself.

Nevertheless, the mixture of fear and envy and competitiveness from the others around them was just icing on the cake. It was almost like being himself again. Nobody else could get away with what he was doing. Nobody else deserved to.

...And then Black Hat spoke.

"I would not have expected a heroine such as yourself to be so deeply desirous of my company," he growled, flicking his tongue at Flug, scent-tasting. "I'm flattered."

"Uh," Flug said eloquently, suddenly blushing strongly enough that the makeup didn't entirely hide it. Crap. He had to remember what he was doing and not - not just fall victim to the moment, certainly not to the extent that Black Hat could _tell_ like that. There wasn't either time to enjoy out-doing everyone else right now. "Right. Listen, Lord Black Hat, sir, I need - I really need a - a - a moment of your time, please, if that's okay."

"Oh?"

"In private." This - this was just a distraction. Far too much of a stupid distraction.

His eyebrows shot up. "How forward!" He grinned again, displaying far too many shark-like teeth and at least one barely-visible fluffy house centipede. "And to think, so many were opposed to the liberation of the fairer sex."

Flug frowned. "What?"

"Far be it from me to deny a determined lady her request." He drew them closer together. "The boxed seats there would provide a lovely environment in which to _converse,_ would they not?" 

"What?" Flug said again, trying to follow. "Er - yeah." He glanced up at the individual balconies high on the walls, sheltered from each other and the dance floor. "Yes, that looks good."

Black Hat grinned wide, whirling them to the music. "Dancing is overrated," he laughed, shadow abruptly caught up with their movement, curling up around them in the space of a second, and they vanished.

They spun out of the dark in one of the highest box seats, between the bolted seats and the door and divan at the back. Flug couldn't even re-orient himself before he was shoved against the wall, and he let out a startled squawk, hands drawn up protectively.

"They call orgasm the little death," Black Hat purred, pressing entirely too close. "I intend to _murder_ you."

"Wait, _what?!_ " Without thinking, Flug pushed with both hands. "No!"

For a fraction of a second, Black Hat was genuinely confused enough to accept being forced a step backward, one hand still in the act of loosening his tie. "No?"

Flug panicked; everything his life had been for years kicked in to remind him that he'd just done something that would get him killed, painfully. "N-no - I mean - I'm sorry - Please, I -"

"Ah, I see." Black Hat grinned again, confusion resolved. He surged forward again, slamming his hand against the wall next to Flug's head. Flug jumped at the close impact, his eyes and heart attempting to mimic a frightened rabbit's.

"For future reference," Black Hat said in a low voice as his gaze slid from Flug's face down to his throat and lower, "It would be more efficient to inform that you'd like to be forced from the start. I do understand the desire for plausible deniability."

Flug covered his face, trying to quell the panic; it wasn't helping him communicate anything at all, any more than the pressure in his head. "Please - s-sir - just -"

"If it would help," Black Hat murmured, leaning entirely too close as he ran his other hand along the side of the dress' overdone bodice, beads and sequins popping off in the claws' wake, "I can make you feel one of the seven deadly sins."

This was getting nowhere. "Is it wrath? I bet it's wrath," Flug muttered under his breath. No matter how much he wanted to get out of this awful dress, this was _not_ the way to go about it. He didn't usually have to deal much with Black Hat at social functions; usually he was left talking shop while Black Hat ditched and... and... this, probably. Only this wasn't _his_ Gala, which inherently made it even more entertaining.

White had known _exactly_ what he was doing, hadn't he.

His head was beginning to throb badly, even if the pain was dulled. How long did he have...?

He felt the damp of blood when he pressed one gloved hand to his nose as he uncovered his face. "Sir, you have to listen to me," he tried. "I'm sorry, but this isn't - it's not what you - I just need to talk to you."

Black Hat seemed willing to let the "have to" wording slide for the moment as he hooked one claw into the top of the bodice, preparing to rip it open and proceed to make as much of a mess as possible out of White's party while technically still following the rules. He tilted his head to Flug's throat, tongue flicking out and tasting scent. And skin, because he was too close, but the way that his victim jumped was delightful. "You _are_ talking," he pointed out.

And paused. Fresh blood...?

"You're not listening," Flug groaned in despair, pressed tight back with hands flat against the wall.

"Nonsense, my dear," Black Hat actually leaned away again, enough to look up at Flug's miserable face. "You simply haven't said anything worthwhile."

Flug scowled, eyes narrowing in a glare. That was _it._ No matter which way he looked at it he was dying here. Better to give it one last _try_ that would probably get him killed than just let Black Hat fool around and _not listen_ until it was too late.

He didn't even realize how much he raised his voice - at least it would be unlikely to be heard by anyone below, excepting those with super-hearing. "Well I'd put a BAG over my HEAD but then you STILL WOULDN'T _LISTEN_ TO ME!"

He suddenly tumbled to the carpet and Black Hat was on the far side of the balcony. On his hands and knees, Flug reached out so quickly that he nearly fell, oblivious to the fresh blood dripping from his nose. "Wait don't go!"

There was a beat of hesitance before shadowy tentacles were picking Flug up again. "Make up your mind."

"I'm try- _stop that!_ " Flug slapped at one of the tentacles that slithered across his collar bone hard enough to break the catch on the collar-necklace, which rattled and dropped aside. It took him an extra moment to realize that he was only being pushed onto the corner of the fainting couch just behind him at the back of the booth.

He took a breath he could feel in the back of his aching head, and could see flickering rainbow shards of light beginning to curl into his vision. "Sir, I'm sorry! I've been trying t-to tell you, you're in d-danger!"

"Elaborate." Black Hat stood over him, forcing him to look up, tentacles coiling back into the dark.

At least now Flug's heart was pounding for the _right_ reasons. "Instructor Y -"

"Who?"

"Not important. Heavily researched spell c-combination. Dawn t-tomorrow." Why was he so out of breath? Ugh.

"Human spells?" Black Hat's thin lip curled back. "Ha!"

"And a nuke."

"Spicy." He turned away.

"And m-m-me."

Black Hat stopped.

"Jefecito, I -"

Black Hat slowly looked at Flug over his shoulder from the corner of his eye. 

It was terrifying and Flug took it as indication to continue, though the color was draining from his face. "S-sir, I'm sorry, but listen, p-p-please, when you sent Dementia and - and _me_ t-to -"

"You are not Flug."

Flug stopped mid-sentence, horror dawning on his face. Of all the reactions he'd anticipated, this had not been one of them.

"You're worthless. Less than nothing. Do you understand?" Black Hat was facing him now, leaning close, needle-toothed, all traces of amusement gone. "You're nothing useful - just a crumbling echo animating a corpse." Closer, and his breath smelled of things that had died in terrified screaming pain. " _And you. Are. Not. Mine._ "

Black Hat reached out toward Flug's stricken face, extended one black claw, and lightly tapped him on the forehead.

Flug slumped back, unconscious.

Black Hat straightened, turned, tipped his hat to Slug - who'd been watching from the main balcony since hearing Flug's outburst - and melted away in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1.) I'm sorry.
> 
> 2.) I have a personal writing rule about avoiding using brand names if I can help it, but the Dorito reference just cannot be made generic.
> 
> 3.) Also yeah emotional abuse is freaking insidious. Like, sure, there's resources, but even figuring out that's what's going on when you're experiencing it yourself is mindbogglingly difficult. So feeling let down by friends that couldn't see it when you yourself couldn't? It's a thing. Hopefully with more awareness it's less of a thing.
> 
> 4.) I discovered in writing this chapter that I know more about aircraft than I do about dancing, even with research. That... says a lot about me, I guess.
> 
> 5.) I'm sorry.
> 
> 6.) No seriously, because imagine [this, but in mostly black fading down to lilac/silver.](https://www.teresacollections.com/products/princess-pink-lace-sheer-neck-puffy-elegant-ball-gowns-formal-dress-gown-clothing?utm_medium=cpc&utm_source=google&utm_campaign=Google%20Shopping&utm_campaign=gs-2018-10-08&utm_source=google&utm_medium=smart_campaign&gclid=EAIaIQobChMIl-HT-vKv6AIVBl8NCh1VfQd7EAkYASABEgIjRPD_BwE) This was chosen by a woman who thinks her daughter should be a perpetual fairytale princess regardless of age or, well, identity. If she's going to do this it's going to be done *her* version of "right."
> 
> 7.) [Meanwhile, this.](https://images.app.goo.gl/fKz7Qi2k5wFCu7fT7) Which Catspit described as being worn by someone who bathes in the tears of sinners.
> 
> 8.) That god-awful orgasm line is credited to Catspit. You see what I have to put up with.  
> (For anybody who doesn't know, the "I can make you feel one of the seven deadly sins" line is from Alan himself in a livestream. I had to.)
> 
> 9.) seriously I'm sorry.
> 
> 10.) The theater: I make jewelry, and several years ago when Catspit and I were still in a long-distance relationship, we'd get together a few times a year to sell at various events (conventions, festivals, etc.). One of these was at this gorgeous theater in LA, aptly named [The Los Angeles Theater.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Los_Angeles_Theatre) The event was horrible, but the venue was spectacular. We should've ditched being vendors and just haunted the building for the duration. :P
> 
> Anyway, that's the place I had in mind for this all along. I went and googled it to put a link here and lo and behold, apparently [BTS just a month ago released a video filmed there (Black Swan).](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0lapF4DQPKQ) (I don't know anything about BTS other than that they have decent taste in location choice, now.) So that sure is a thing. I based layout on what I remember from the event and how they used the space, and BS'd the rest, not that it matters in the slightest. Said video covers the visuals quite well.
> 
> 11.) [Also there's a really good version of Danse Macabre here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=71fZhMXlGT4) (Where "good" is purely subjective and based on it having the right sound to my tastes. It's been my favorite since I first heard the piece on a scratchy old LP in music class in high school.) ([And then there's the version Dementia wants as a duet, too.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A-FS2SHRHYw&feature=youtu.be)) The other songs at the beginning are more communicative of the feel of the chapter though.
> 
> 12.) And thank you so much for the comments. Keeping my mouth shut about certain theories, etc. has been enthrallingly difficult. <3


	16. Sir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which there are Resolutions

[ Music: [Possibility by Lykke Li](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gjgCOfrMNPE)  
[Can't Help Falling In Love (Elvis Presley) Dark Cover by Tommee Profitt (feat. Brooke)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PDboeQfAsww) ]

There were metal walls pressing the air out of him, then tearing into him, and he wasn't even himself.

He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, and Black Hat was standing over him, watching. His mouth was drawn thin and tight, eye narrowed. Flug recognized the way he stood more still than a human ever could, and the way his hand twitched, and the way the slight, calculated tilt of his head and the brim of his hat shadowed his face from anyone else's perspective. 

He looked tired.

Flug wanted to scream apologies until that expression went away, but he hadn't the breath. He could only reach and cough out desperation and try to change what he couldn't.

Black Hat's expression didn't change. He knelt, and if he could have, Flug would have lifted his head back to bare his throat.

And then Flug only knew that he was being lifted far too easily, and held close. Valued. It was everything he'd ever wanted.

His eyes snapped open; he was suddenly and unnaturally awake, as though someone had called his name. He was on a firm bed in a small room, warm with electronics and white noise, a few low lights, a basic knit blanket, saline drip IV - a hospital room. He was alone.

For once, he could remember every instant of his dreaming. And all at once his eyes went wide.

It was real. It was _real._ He'd seen it when he'd reviewed the memory in Shadowshine's head and had been too distracted to realize the implication of what Black Hat had done.

The beeping of the heart rate monitor mounted behind the bed quickened.

He thought of how he'd originally gotten to Hat Manor. He'd already been wearing the paper bag when he'd signed the contract, and hadn't put it on himself - Black Hat had done it. Black Hat had put that regenerative brain leech on him before he'd even signed. He'd saved Flug's life _just to make sure Flug lived to sign himself over,_ and Flug wasn't sure how many times since then he'd have ceased to exist if not for what he'd thought was just a paper bag. He'd thought he'd never died even once in Black Hat's service but if he thought about the missing time that he noticed now and then... well.

Black Hat had already considered him an investment to safeguard, even before owning him.

Black Hat. Wanted. Him.

Or rather, Flug reminded himself with another sinking sensation, not him, but - but the _real_ Flug. He thought of the way that Black Hat had reacted, when he'd realized who he was with.

The simultaneous validation and rejection was overwhelming. Flug covered his face with both hands, giving a small whine that would have been a screaming sob if he'd properly let it out. It wasn't him, it wasn't, he wasn't himself, he'd never been himself, he was just a mistake, a failure, nothing, just a - a worthless copy of the real Flug. The one that belonged to Black Hat.

There was the click of a door, accompanied by a low, warm voice. "Dr. Flug!"

"No," he forced out, trying not to wail because he _hated_ this voice, hated this body, he'd never asked for this, he'd never wanted this. "No no no no no no -" His cursed voice was rising. His fingers tightened in his hairline, fingernails biting into skin, as though he could tear off this face that wasn't his the way that Black Hat sometimes did when he was frustrated. The thought made him want to laugh and caused a stab of pain in his chest that the heart monitor gave away.

"Don't, don't, you'll hurt yourself." There was weight on the mattress, an arm heavy and grounding around his shoulders, a broad hand catching his wrists and gently forcing his hands away from his face. A scent of sunlight. White Hat. "Heavens, what did he _do_ to you?"

"More like what he didn't do." The door clicked shut loudly as Dr. Slug kicked it with his heel, a paper cup of coffee in each hand.

"Ah! I'm sorry, about the door, love -"

"Call me that again and I'm pouring this on you," Slug grumbled. He pointedly nudged one cup under the edge of his bag, glaring at White Hat as he drank, and took up station on the other side of the bed from White.

White Hat gave a small huff, and turned his attention back to Flug, who was staring blankly into space somewhere around his shins, hands limply curled in his lap as White released his grip.

"Dr. Slug heard you," White said quietly, gently brushing one of the loose locks of hair around his face back behind his ear, and deducing the depths of Flug's mental state by the fact that he didn't so much as twitch, much less swat his hand away. "By the time we found you... well." He took a deep breath, and made to give Flug a squeeze with the arm around his shoulders, but Flug was so tense that he thought better of it. "I... would like to formally apologize," he sighed, settling for resting his free hand on the mattress. "I was wrong to dismiss your concerns. And I didn't realize..." He stopped abruptly, turning his head away, one hand to his mouth.

"What he's trying to say," Slug filled in, nudging the other cup of coffee into Flug's hands, "is that we didn't get that you were in that bad of shape and he's sorry -" He glanced at White. " _Really_ sorry he forgot about what being around Black Hat does to telepaths."

Flug's hands closed around the warmth of the coffee cup as if by instinct.

White Hat looked like _he_ was going to cry - he'd pushed Flug toward Black Hat, which in this case amounted to murder, to him - but took a breath, struggling to collect himself. "He can turn it down, so to speak, in the same way that I can. And he must have, for you to have survived that long that close, in your state. So he must have known, or suspected. But it's not something we can turn off..."

_He'd known._

"They can put on aura antiperspirant but they still sweat," Slug translated, taking a seat in one of the two chairs along the wall. 

...How long had Black Hat known? The whole time? Why had he actually turned up at the Gala...?

"Crudely put, but... serviceable," White said, smiling in thanks for the simplification. "But I'm afraid it - it means that you won't be able to see him again. I repaired all I could but my abilities can only heal so much. I could only buy you a few more hours."

...Probably, he'd come to do what Dementia and the real Flug had failed to do.

Flug mumbled something that not even White Hat could make out. "What was that?" the being asked, ducking his head to hear better.

"I said _he doesn't want to see me again,_ " Flug tried to snap, but his voice was too quiet and broke partway through. He stiffened and shut his eyes tight, trying not to break down again, with limited success. Why the fuck hadn't Black Hat just killed him, instead of consigning him to this kind of suffering?

Torture. Punishment for existing and wasting his time.

He didn't even know if Black Hat understood the danger he was in. God, why had he even tried? He wouldn't be around to care if Black Hat died. Though right now that thought was making the heart rate monitor give him away again.

Slug stared at his coffee and White Hat simply sat unmoving, his arm still around Flug's shoulders, though Flug did not lean in toward him as he hoped.

The chair next to Slug was filled with the utter monstrosity of a dress, wadded into a ball. Someone had changed Flug into a hospital gown (thankfully, the wrap sort that wasn't open in the back, at least), and washed the awful makeup off of him.

Flug didn't want to think about it. After a moment he raised the cup in trembling hands and took a sip, then a longer drink, before lowering the cup to his lap again.

White looked visibly relieved at the action, before glancing at Slug again. "Wasn't one of those -"

"Go get your own."

White opened his mouth, glanced from Slug to Flug and back, and closed his mouth again. "I'll... be back in a few," he said gently, patting Flug's back as he drew away.

Flug stared down at the coffee until the door quietly clicked shut behind White Hat. "Too sweet," he whispered.

"It was his," Slug supplied, drinking from his own cup. "He'll be a while. He's popular here."

There was a long pause, during which Slug surreptitiously watched Flug perfecting his hollow stare.

Flug raised the cup again, arms drawn in tightly, but the motion jostled his breasts. Tension flitted across his face. "This is horrible," he mumbled.

"You're telling me."

Flug almost laughed, though he was far from relaxed in the slightest. "Not the coffee. I meant - I meant th-this." He listlessly raised one hand to gesture at himself, and let his hand fall heavily again.

"Gee. Absolutely no way I could know how that feels."

For a moment Flug stared at Slug incredulously, before color rose in his scrubbed cheeks. "I forgot," he admitted. "Sorry."

"Don't be." Slug leaned back. "You get through this, you can have my old binders. Anyway. Got a plan?"

"A plan?" Now Flug did laugh - one short derisive bark. "Yeah, I've got a plan. Give me one of your guns so I can blow my head off. Or at least the head I'm _in._ You heard White. I'm not getting through this."

"Stop that. You know damned well that you wouldn't ask if you actually thought I had any on me."

Flug's shoulders slumped again. "Sorry." He closed his eyes. "I just..." Deep breaths. "Sorry."

"I get it."

"I just - I'd rather be able to control when I - end, at this point."

"I get it," Slug repeated. "But shit happens. You never know."

"There isn't a way out of this."

For a few moments, Slug only watched Flug again, and Flug didn't look anywhere further than the cup of coffee in his hands. There was no sound but the quiet beeping of the heart rate monitor. Faster than sleep, slower than panic, steady and unwavering.

Slug took a deep breath.

"Black Hat."

The heart rate monitor's beeping sped up.

"Oh, fuck you!" Flug snapped, flopping backward onto the mattress and spilling the coffee in the process. He sat up again, madly scuffling out from under the soaked blanket.

Slug impassively took another drink from his own cup. "Well, now that we've established that," he said smugly, but didn't continue, instead leaning back and watching Flug with half-lidded eyes.

"You know what, fuck _all_ of this!" Flug tore the heart rate sensor from his hand and the IV from his arm, and shoved himself out of the bed. "Fuck Black Hat, fuck Instructor Y, fuck spell combos and antique nukes, fuck Death Valley, fuck the other me, fuck brain leech paper bags, and fuck you and the white horse you rode in on when he gets back with his coffee! If I've still got a couple of hours left alive, I'll be _damned_ if I'm spending them with you two!"

"Sounds like a plan," Slug said, crossing his extended legs at the ankles. "Not sure I got all that, though."

Flug turned around and flung the pillow from the bed at him, but Slug didn't so much as slop his own coffee, catching the pillow instead. "Don't forget your phone," he reminded, pulling it out of his coat pocket and tossing it onto the bed.

Flug snatched it up and held it in both hands like it was a precious artifact, and paused for a moment, mind racing. "Stall him when he gets back. I don't care what else you do but leave me the hell alone."

Slug finished his coffee. "No problem." 

Ten minutes later, long after Slug had turned off the shrieking heart monitor, White Hat knocked lightly before entering the room. Slug was still sitting, still with ankles crossed, and barely glanced up from reading a battered paperback he'd pulled from an inside pocket of his trench coat.

White surveyed the scene, setting down two of the three cups of coffee he'd been carrying on the cabinets at the front of the room. "I take it Dr. Flug feels better?"

"Eh." Slug shrugged without looking up again. "Instructor Y's plan to off Black Hat involves a combination of spells and I'm guessing an old school atomic bomb in Death Valley. Possibly also Flug Prime and brain leech paper bags."

"I couldn't find her again at the Gala - wait, brain leech...?" White Hat paused and blinked several times, brow furrowed, before realization dawned on him. "Oh, no," he groaned. "oh he _didn't..._ "

\-----------------------

Hours, White Hat had said. He had hours. The next time his head started hurting, that was probably going to be it.

Flug confidently walked into one of the hospital's staff locker rooms like it was the most natural thing to be doing, which was the easiest way to allay suspicion. He grabbed an assortment of clothing - dark gray scrubs - and tried lockers until he found one that hadn't shut properly, and took the car keys that lay with the personal effects inside. With a smirk and a mumbled "Finally!" he took a lab coat from a hook on the wall. He snatched someone's thermal lunchbox from the break room without looking at the contents; it was more important to keep moving.

The worst part was changing in a bathroom - only one way in and out. But thankfully, he was undisturbed, and no one seemed to take any note of him leaving.

By the time he got to the parking garage, he was still barefoot - the shoes he'd taken from the locker room would have fit his actual body, but not this one, and the fit was so bad that it was better to go without. He had probably been sighted on security cameras at this point. Better to keep walking. Stopping to look around would draw attention. He just kept clicking the "lock" button on the keys' fob until one of the cars he passed responded.

It was a candy-apple-red Tesla with a license plate reading "DRS3KS1".

Welp. So much for being inconspicuous.

It wasn't as though he'd be using it the entire way. Time was short and driving would take too long. He only needed to get to an airfield - somewhere with light aircraft, fuel, and preferably either lax security or a guard that would love their very own bright red Tesla.

And then he could just fly directly to Badwater Basin, land in the salt flats, and beat the hell out of Instructor Y with the tire iron he'd just seen in the Tesla's trunk (upon checking it for resources). But failing that, just stopping the spell would be sufficient.

Because what Black Hat had said didn't matter. How Black Hat felt about him didn't matter. All that mattered was how he felt about Black Hat.

And how he felt was that there would be no _point_ in existing in a world without Black Hat - a world where the one singular individual he wanted to _see_ him would never see, would never even momentarily acknowledge him as a _peer_ rather than a subordinate. Even if _he_ didn't exist, even if Black Hat couldn't abide his short existence as a copy, he knew that the him that would continue to exist felt the same.

The him that would continue to exist. The one that Instructor Y currently held prisoner.

The last component of her spell to permanently bind Black Hat: something that Black Hat valued.

Flug's jaw tightened enough that his teeth hurt. _Keep it together._

Really, all he'd need to do would be get his original self away long enough for Black Hat's temporary binding to fail, which wouldn't take long. He'd have to try to remember that bashing in Y's head was optional (and might not even stop the spell). Hopefully he'd still be able to think by that point.

He powered on the phone as he slid into the front seat - he'd need the maps - and didn't glance at it again until he'd taken a moment to study the dashboard arrangement.

The screen was filled with missed call and text notifications spanning the past day, starting with:

_Are you okay?_

And then the aged battery promptly gave out.

Flug had a vision of having to hold up a gas station with a tire iron for a micro-USB cable, but thought to check the car's glovebox first. Bingo.

Finally, something was going right.

\-----------------------------

It had been so, so easy to get into the Powers-specific prison facility, between the Ravens' and Haxxor's abilities. Haxxor kept the computer from recognizing that there was a breach, and nearly all of the guards were psychically put to sleep by the time that the cells were unlocked en masse. With all seven of the Ravens together, they could even let most of the prisoners know what was going on without a sound.

The problems started with actually getting to Magnetite, who was kept in an utterly ridiculous suspended glass and plastic cell that couldn't be opened by computer. It wasn't a problem for Virtus, but smashing their way in set off alarms they couldn't stop.

"Ah, is it that time already, Yolanda?" The man in the cell called, turning around as the broken exterior doors clattered into the pit below his cell. He blinked when he saw only a couple of young adults standing in the doorway as the gangplank extended to the cell. "Forgive me, I thought she'd be coming herself," he apologized, waiting as Virtus shattered the cell's secondary door.

"This is Virtus, I'm Shadowshine," she said by way of introduction from the doorway, waving them back across the gangplank. "Come on, gonna get crowded around here pretty quick." The drone of warning sirens began from somewhere else in the complex.

"Of course," Magnetite said pleasantly, all confidence and middle-aged charm in an orange jumpsuit.

"Pleased to meet you, sir," Virtus said, shaking his hand before starting down the inoffensive muted-sunshine-yellow corridor back to the central control room. "Why were you expecting Instructor Y?"

"She's had a project she's been working on," he explained. "Last visit, she said she'd like me to see it. Which would, of course, require my leaving this place." He glanced at the rows of open doors down side corridors. "Doing a thorough job, aren't we."

"The more the merrier," Shadowshine said brightly, rippling turquoise. "I don't know if you remember me, my parents worked for you -"

"You're the Fisher girl?"

She beamed. "Yeah!"

"Ah, excellent, I thought so. Very colorful. Good to see you've turned out, despite your circumstances."

Her glow flickered. "Uh. Pardon?"

"Being adopted by the unPowered." He patted her on the shoulder. "Do keep going, miss; I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the layout of the facility. I didn't get out much." He chuckled at his own joke.

Virtus glanced back at Shadowshine, whose skin had taken on a bruise-like undertone. "So yeah about Instructor Y," he said, a little loudly. "She has this crazy plan that'll - that'll really screw things up for everybody ever. Can you help us stop it?"

Magnetite slowed. "Are we talking about her plan to usher in the Golden Age of Humanity free of outside influences?"

"Yeah, that'd be it." Virtus pushed open a set of double doors.

The hallway beyond was crammed with guards in riot gear. "Fire!"

Virtus yanked the doors shut again, breaking their hydraulic mechanisms in the process.

"Oh, for goodness' sake," Magnetite sighed with a dismissive gesture. The doors flung themselves back open, bullets and guards alike flung back down the hallway, the guards with significantly more screaming. "Belt buckles, rivets, and boot grommets," Magnetite said cheerfully. "They never learn." To Virtus, he added, "Then that would be the plan, yes." He ushered them toward the guards - groaning, unconscious, and worse - so that his rescuers stepped over them and through the next set of doors first. "How do you students like the monorail? It must be completed by now, if she's making her move."

"It's very retro," Shadowshine said, failing entirely to point out that she and Virtus were both wearing sweats with nylon zippers and slip-on shoes without grommets. They hadn't been sure how he'd react to the jailbreak at first. "Now what did you mean by -"

The building shook with a strangely crackling explosion close enough that they could see the magenta flash reflecting on the walls ahead. The wail of the siren warbled and changed in pitch but didn't stop. The freed prisoners were waging their own battles, as intended. "Oh, that would be Plazmar," Magnetite interrupted. "I wonder how she and Barnburner are doing? We'll have to -"

There was another explosion, and quite a bit of shouting. Dust filtered down from the cracking ceiling.

"We'll have to get out of here first," Shadowshine said dryly. "Now listen. Instructor Y is trying to kill Black Hat. We can't let that happen, so -"

"Sweetheart," Magnetite laughed, "You do not yet have the experience necessary, I think, to appreciate her plan. There are things in this world that are better left alone. Things that the world is much better off without."

Shadowshine's eyes narrowed, her blue undertone getting a little brighter. "Yeah, namely Instructor Y. She's really lost it, okay? She's been mind controlling people left and right and locking up memories."

"Oh, she was always like that. Did Jeanne ever find out that I was her -"

"Jeanne's dead." Was it okay to take satisfaction in the way Magnetite reacted as if she'd slapped him? It didn't matter; she was taking it anyway. "And it's because of Instructor Y and her shitty plan."

"A noble death, to be killed in the line of duty," Magnetite nodded to himself. "She will be missed."

"Are you serious?" Virtus mumbled, carefully opening the next set of doors a crack before flinging them open to pass through. There were further rumblings somewhere off to the right.

Magnetite heard him. "Deadly serious," the man said sternly. "This isn't some game, you know. This world has suffered under the yoke of alien oppression for far too -"

"You're _so_ in on it," Shadowshine sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Of course I'm in on it," Magnetite exclaimed. "I've been with her from the start! Long before either of you were born. Who do you think financed her operation? Incarceration was a tactic to allay suspicion. This world is destined for the Powered, without such outside influences -"

"You realize that humans are entirely capable of being crappy to each other and making their own weapons without having to buy from Black Hat," Virtus pointed out, pausing to fold his thick arms and impassively look down on Magnetite.

"Young man, you don't understand -"

"We are _literally_ here, cashing in your Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free card, thanks to the guy that _makes_ all of Black Hat's stuff now," Shadowshine pointed out. "And who pretty much runs the company. And is a human."

"And way smarter than you," Virtus chimed in.

"And doesn't have Powers," Shadowshine added, nodding to Virtus. Bluish-green streaks of light reached around the edges of her face like claws, or a slowly closing maw, all the more visible for the way the rest of her skin darkened with blue undertones.

"So you _were_ tainted by your pathetic parents," Magnetite sighed. "I'm so disappointed. The unPowered are incapable of -"

"And my parents thought this guy was so great," Shadowshine said to Virtus, ignoring Magnetite.

"Young lady, your parents were little more than your _kidnappers_ and obviously damaged you terribly," Magnetite snarled dismissively. "Yolanda should have finished the job I gave her and disposed of you _with them._ "

Everything stopped. Virtus and Shadowshine stared at Magnetite, who drew himself up with open arrogance. "There, finally, proper respect -"

"Let me just make sure I understand," Shadowshine said, shoving her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. The green streaks on her face had paused, but her skin was definitely glowing muted indigo. " _You._ Had Instructor Y. Kill my parents."

Virtus took a step back. There was another explosion; the lights flickered.

"Clearly it was already too late to save you," Magnetite scowled. "For that, I am so-"

"Virtus, tear his arms off."

" _What?!_ " The boy went pale, raising his hands defensively, but Magnetite instantly focused on him, raising his own hands in front of him to tear loose metal pipes from overhead so as to defend himself.

So he completely missed Shadowshine dodging in from his side and jabbing something into his throat as hard as she could. The green streaks snapped shut in a sharp line across the bridge of her nose, indigo flaring out of the visible spectrum.

Magnetite made a terrible choking noise and flicked at the weapon, only to discover that he'd no control over it whatsoever - it was the ceramic knife that she'd been hanging on to for the better part of a week. He couldn't do a thing as she yanked it forward to free it, blood more splashing than spraying.

Virtus squawked and flattened himself against the painted cinderblock wall, the water-spilling pipes having impacted the wall where he'd been a moment ago. What he was watching with eyes like saucers, though, was Shadowshine stepping backward, blood soaking her clothing and coating her hand. She didn't take her eyes from Magnetite for the forty seconds it took him to claw at his throat, look wildly for something in the surroundings delicate enough to use to patch himself somehow, find nothing, and finally try to attack again, making awful gurgling shouts that failed to be words the entire time. But they were wearing nothing metal, the knife wasn't metal, there was nothing in his rapidly shrinking range but the brackets holding the pipes, and by the time he realized, he hadn't even the strength to do more than rattle them uselessly. He fell back against the wall, and then sank to the floor, and finally slumped over, and still made noises a little longer before falling silent.

"THE HELL WAS THAT!" Virtus shouted.

Shadowshine stared expressionless, indigo and green fading in heartbeat pulses, before threads of cyan started pulsing as well. The left side of her lip curled up, not quite a half-smile. "It worked," she murmured.

It was nothing like experiencing the deaths of Livewire's team. Shock and pain and horror and rage and cold were nothing compared to watching Magnetite's belated realization that he'd fucked up badly. It was tearing a page out of someone else's book to ruin it for them, it was the click of the lock on your door when you thought you were alone, it was beating the shit out of something whether or not it deserved it because _you_ needed it. It was the truth set free, sharp-toothed and hungry. It was half a lifetime of being talked down to and ridiculed and controlled and ignored, of having the life you'd enjoyed before that ripped away, all communicated in less than a minute. 

Magnetite gave a final wheezy burble, eyes unfocused, and did not move again. Virtus turned and vomited against the wall.

Shadowshine stepped forward again, slipping a little in the bloody water filling the floor of the hallway, and kicked Magnetite in the crotch just to make sure. He persisted in his new profession of being a corpse. The ripples of glow on her face settled on pleasant cyan before fading away.

"Pretty sure that was a revenge arc or something," she said, holding her hand and the knife under the water flowing out of the broken pipes. "Or, I dunno. Origin story?" She slipped the cap back on the knife and stuck it into the top of her boot, and unzipped the soaked hoodie.

Virtus stepped backward a little further down the hall, away from her. "Are you okay?"

"Nope!" She grinned and jumped to clear the rest of the puddle, laughing when she slipped and stumbled. "Better." She struggled out of the hoodie and tossed it over Magnetite's head. "Let's go."

"Are you, like, a ninja, or -"

"Dude I Googled it on the way here."

They were nearly back to the last hallway to the gatehouse, passing a few blown-through and collapsed walls and glimpsing battles that had moved outside, when the PA system crackled, several cameras swiveling toward them. "Stop right there!"

Virtus yelped.

"Very funny, Haxxor," Shadowshine yelled. "Get the doors at the end of the hall open, we're done!"

"I can't hear you," Haxxor said over the speaker, and before Shadowshine could raise her voice to shout over the siren and rumbles and shouts down the halls, added, "No seriously there's no microphone. Gonna guess Magnetite didn't work out? But there's another door not connected to the system that we can't open and we're really gonna want to spring who's in there. Go back down to the last intersection and turn left."

Shadowshine held her hands up in exaggerated confusion, then gestured with both toward the locked doors to the gatehouse. "I know, but really, just go, trust me," Haxxor said. Shadowshine finally rolled her eyes and shrugged, leading Virtus back the way they'd come.

Everything made sense as soon as they found the door to which Haxxor directed them. Virtus tore it from its hinges and something inside... yawned. Someone muzzled, bound in a straightjacket and securely chained to an upright furniture dolly.

"Z'up, nerd? Zzz'it breakfast time already?"

Dementia.

\--------------------

There was no time for Flug to drive the car he'd stolen by his definition of "like he stole it." At this time of night the traffic on the highways, at least, was light enough that speeding _was_ an option. But after all, it was the night of the Heroes' Gala - who in the world would be dumb enough to enact crimes on the one night the entire city was buzzing with heroes? The cops taking the night off was a longstanding tradition.

The only thing that slowed him down was connecting the phone's bluetooth to the car.

It was going on one in the morning. He debated calling Shadowshine - her last messages had said they were entering the prison, and they should have completed the escape by now. Calling someone while they might possibly be driving at high speeds didn't sound like the best of ideas. Instead he dictated a text that he was leaving LA.

The phone rang within minutes. He jumped so badly that he swerved a little before he could tap the button on the steering wheel to accept the call. Before he could speak, Shadowshine greeted him.

" _HOLY SHIT YOU'RE ALIVE!_ "

"Barely," he responded, though for the first time that night he caught himself actually smiling. "Success?"

"Yes and no," Shadowshine shouted - there was an awful lot of noise on her end. "By any chance did the Black Hat Organization sell the California penal system some giant robots?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keeping my mouth shut about Slug was _really_ difficult. A few months ago before I started writing this I actually was ambivalent about using the fanon characters, but then Catspit suggested I play Slug to his White Hat and... it turned out that Slug had been lurking in my head all along. o_O (Though I did spend several days screaming "WHY IS HE HERE I DO NOT KNOW THIS MAN!" at Catspit.)
> 
> I'm not sure if I can work out a fic to focus on our versions, though, because the moment I tried, it turned into a full-blown original worldbuilding session. So that's a thing I'm working on now. After having been largely unable to write for too many years I am in a space of months within two or three chapters of finishing a novel-length fic and working on a novel with intent to publish, because of Villainous. My loyalty is secured.
> 
> ...Also, Flug is a _terrible_ influence. Less than a week ago, Shadowshine's major form of rebellion was sneaking ice cream in the kitchen at night.
> 
> I'm so grateful for the comments!


	17. Make It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which there are Meetings and Partings, both expected and not, as well as a brief bout of True Love.

[ Music: [Replica by JNUARY](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=btig6EeTrMQ)  
[This Is Love by Air Traffic Controller](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fIewrm2Vg10) ]

By the time that Shadowshine and Virtus reached the gate house, pulling Dementia behind them on the dolly, the group's other vehicles had left already, leaving only Haxxor and Ravens Billie and Gally (presumably, since that had been the plan) to wait for them. "Gotta go now!" one of the Ravens yelled as the two of them held the double-doors open.

"They got out the big guns!" the other shouted.

"Keys! Get the van started!" Virtus yelled. One of the Ravens dodged away from the doors, snatching the keys that Haxxor held out for her. He was at the control console, in the windowed room parallel to the exit hall, stalling the computer's lockdown response as long as possible.

"Is she up yet?" the other Raven asked, trying to see Dementia. Virtus had torn off her chains and Dementia had somehow undone the straightjacket while yawning and stretching, but then she'd laid back against the dolly and started snoring, apparently still sleeping off whatever she'd been drugged with. She'd only been in a maximum security holding cell - evidently they hadn't even had time to get her processed and give her new clothing, and there was still blood from the school's security officers dried in her hair and on her clothes.

"Guess who's too lizard-brain for telepaths to read," Haxxor said cheerfully from the control room. The Raven rushed to hold open the exterior door through which her sister had already left. The chaos of sirens, explosions, gunfire, and shouting outside the gatehouse was deafening. "We didn't know she was here until I saw that one cell occupied and still locked," Haxxor added over the din.

"Gonna kill that alarm clock," Dementia said groggily, then sat up, blearily rubbing her eyes. "Who are you guys...?"

"Future clients," Shadowshine said, jostling the dolly to try to get Dementia off of it. "Listen -"

"I am!" Dementia said, brightening. "Sounds like a good time out there!" She jumped to her feet, stretching and heading for the door. "Is this a prison? Man, what dumbass dropped me off here."

Shadowshine frowned, flickering green. "Hang on -"

"Wait!" Virtus said, dropping the dolly. The Raven at the door looked like she didn't know whether to try to pull the door shut or just run.

There was an awfully loud crash outside, and Dementia looked through the door like a cat watching birds. "Whaddayawant, kids? Nature calls."

Shadowshine was almost, but not quite, derailed by the fact that she and Dementia were visibly at least close to the same age. "Black Hat's in danger!"

Dementia spun in place. " _Where._ Also _how?!_ "

"Really old magic." When Dementia turned back to the door, Shadowshine added in a rush, "We can help you stop it, but you come with us!"

"Then hurry up!" Dementia yelled sprinting through the door.

"We're in the white van!" Virtus yelled, following.

Dementia had either already presumed they'd be taking the running van, or simply intended to commandeer the first vehicle she came to. "I'll drive!"

Virtus looked like he _might_ object - he'd taken that duty - but thought better of it, dodging to the other side of the van to crawl into the back instead. The Ravens were already in the middle seats, and by the time Haxxor and Shadowshine jumped in and slid the wide side door shut, they were already rolling.

"Go left!" Shadowshine said, crawling awkwardly into the front passenger seat as they peeled out, heading for the gates and bouncing side to side as Dementia swerved around debris at a faster clip than advisable. "Get to the highway!"

They cleared the edge of the building, revealing the battle to their right. The amount of fire and motion and sound caught Shadowshine's attention and she turned her head just in time to see what looked like one of the guard towers rising up, brick falling away from its sides, accompanied by rumbles and howls of metal. Instead of toppling from some explosion or damage at its base, three triple-jointed flat metal legs unfolded, serrated on their undersides like the forelegs of a preying mantis. With further screeching, clacking metal ribs unfurled from between the legs, segmented like centipedes, forming pincher-ended tentacles that whipped through the air. One shot straight down and grabbed up one of the escapees trying to fight their way out, oblivious to the liquid fire that poured from his hands. Scanning searchlights from the top of the tower revealed a second ambulatory guard tower stalking after another vehicle - luckily, not one they knew - that was driving off at an angle across the open fields that surrounded the prison. The former towers' sirens stuttered and sounded for all the world like hunting calls.

"OOH!" Dementia veered to the right. Virtus shrieked.

"I SAID LEFT!" Shadowshine yelled in a flash of indigo. "BLACK HAT IS TO THE LEFT!"

The van swerved back toward the gate just as a large portion of the outer wall crashed inward. A third guard tower tripod stumbled through the wall back toward the battle, its tentacles sweeping just overhead to swat at one of the escapees who was flying in front of it, firing blasts of fuchsia light toward its control room. One tentacle connected and the flyer crashed into the ground just ahead of them, hard enough to leave a crater. Dementia made a sound like a hyena.

"It's beautiful," Haxxor said from the back seat, craning his neck to get as good a look as he could through the van's secondary sun roof.

"Told you," one Raven said, taking her sister's hand. "Big guns," the other finished.

Dementia sped up, twitching the van's path to straddle the crater - though that particular former prisoner was probably _very_ former, unless they had some variety of toughness or healing as part of their Powers. "Those look really famil-"

Shadowshine's hand shot out toward the wheel. " _TURN LEFT!_ "

"I heard you the first time!" Dementia smacked her hand away, turning the van so sharply that the driver's side wheels left the asphalt. The remaining two tires and Dementia squealed; everyone else in the van screamed. Somehow, they managed to avoid careening into the drainage ditch on the far side of the road.

Shadowshine braced on the center armrest as they straightened out, glowing a pretty consistent indigo. She looked back at the others in the van. The Ravens were rigid in their seats, their hands over their faces now. Virtus looked disturbingly pale. Haxxor had his phone out, turned around in his seat, trying to get video out the rear window.

A brilliant white spotlight hit them and a siren sounded, the source of both much too close for comfort. Dementia stomped on the gas with an audible "thunk" as the gas pedal hit the floor, pushing the button to open the forward sun roof. "Somebody get up here and drive. I'm gonna get a better look at that."

"Oh god," Virtus whined. "We're gonna die."

"I don't have a license!" Shadowshine blurted out, clinging to the cross-strap of her seatbelt and still glowing.

Dementia snorted and bit her lip as she glanced at Shadowshine, and then failed entirely to stifle her outburst of laughter. "You - you think I have a -"

One of the metal tripod legs struck the far side road, momentarily level with the back of the van, and shattered the surface. The next leg swept forward and impacted the dirt on the far side of the drainage ditch to their right. It would be right above them in only a few steps.

"Watch the road!" Shadowshine covered her indigo-and-green streaking face, thinking that she should've known.

Haxxor stuck his head between the front seats, having already crawled to the front. "I'm up. How we gonna -"

Dementia hit the brakes. The van's tires locked, squealing on the asphalt. Several of the occupants screamed with varying degrees of terror and/or excitement, and it was only Dementia's arm that kept Haxxor from going through the windshield. The tripod overshot them for several immense steps.

She jammed the gear shift into neutral and hauled herself up through the sunroof. "Hurry up before it turns -"

The small hexagonal chamber at the top of the tripod rotated to face them again. If there was still a guard in there, they didn't seem to be controlling anything.

"- Around," Dementia finished, and started banging on the roof of the van, grinning. "Go go go go go!"

The van revved and lurched forward, heading straight for the tripod. "Up here!" Dementia yelled, stumbling in her excitement as she tried to attract the segmented metal tentacle-arms toward herself. It worked a little too well - one swung close as the tripod met them, pincers grasping at her.

Only Dementia wasn't there - she'd jumped, and skittered up the tentacle like a gecko, cackling. The tower's siren shrieked at a lower pitch as she reached what was ostensibly a control room, and was answered from behind them as the van shot between its legs.

"Move!" Virtus yelled as another spotlight caught them, the answering tower-bot now stomping onto the road and heading their way - and approaching fast, even as the tower they'd just passed under spun in a circle trying to track Dementia as she swarmed her way around the glassed-in room. Evidently finding no easy way in, she stopped and stuck out her tongue at the waving tentacles, skittering out of the way just in time to let the tower-bot break through its own windows. The third tower answered too, speeding up on its way back to the prison - escaping vehicle in its talons - and altering its course to take to the access road as well.

Haxxor slowed down, but it was so as to turn onto the highway, speeding up again as they headed south.

"We can't leave her," Shadowshine said, looking in the rear-view mirror at the tripod tottering onto the highway.

"Della and Callie's car is waiting for us under the interchange in Bakersfield," the Ravens suggested. "We can wait for her there. The others are cutting through the mountains with nobody following."

"That's assuming we can outrun them at all," Virtus added, still looking out the back. The second tower-bot was already entering the highway, with a much more steady gait than the one that Dementia was harassing.

"Oh no, wait," Shadowshine groaned, lime green fluttering over her face. "Guys if Dementia was there what about Flug? Not ours, the first one. We gotta go back -"

"He wasn't there." Haxxor spoke with certainty, eyes on the road.

"What about the infirmary? He was shot -"

"We cleared the infirmary." The boy looked a little nervous now. "I checked everything after we found Dementia. Nobody else had been brought in at all, in the past couple of days."

Shadowshine flickered. "You were gonna tell me this when?" She groaned again. "Crap, what if he died and there's nobody around to get the - the bag leech thing? How long can it live on its own?" And then her eyes went wide and her skin went indigo again. "What if Instructor Y took him for the spell for binding Black Hat!"

"Ow, turn it down!" Haxxor snapped, squinting against her glow reflected in the windshield.

"Guys, those things are catching up," Virtus called from the back seat.

Shadowshine's glow suddenly flickered brighter as she yelped in surprise - and then quickly fished her phone, set to vibrate, out of its secure hiding place in the top of her boot, opposite the one that hid her knife. She let out a whoop as soon as she checked it. "Flug's alive!"

"Which one?" Haxxor exclaimed, bouncing in his seat.

"Can we go any faster?" Virtus yelled.

"Ours! Shush!" She moved to call.

The pavement directly to her right exploded as the point of one of the tower-bots' legs touched down, missing them by inches. Haxxor stomped on the brakes, wheels locking and skidding - and jolting, as the tripod's rear leg very lightly clipped them as it passed over.

"Don't _stop_ oh my god!" Virtus was unbuckling his seatbelt.

Haxxor turned to look at him. "No backseat driving! Get up here!"

"What do you think I'm doing!" Virtus pushed up between the seats. "Get out of the way!"

"What do you think _I'm_ doing!" Haxxor snapped, scrambling up until he was halfway through the sun roof with his feet braced on the dashboard. And then he shrieked, throwing himself flat against the roof of the car. "Drive!"

"What the hell _are_ you doing!" Shadowshine grabbed his leg, still clutching her phone in her right hand, as Virtus stomped on the gas. The phone, on speaker, was ringing - and picked up. " _HOLY SHIT YOU'RE ALIVE!_ " she yelled as a greeting.

"Barely," the voice they'd come to associate with their particular Flug responded. "Success?"

"Yes and no!" Shadowshine shouted over the noise. "By any chance did the Black Hat Organization sell the California penal system some giant robots? Dementia said they looked familiar!"

"Let go of my leg!" Haxxor yelled at her, trying to shake her grip. "They're run by computers, right? If I can get up into one I can -"

"Are you _nuts?!_ " She didn't let go. "Get back in here!"

"We most certainly did _not,_ " Flug snapped through the phone. "If they're using our tech somebody breached contract and -"

Virtus glanced into the rear view mirror. "Incoming!"

Shadowshine looked back through the rear window, and Haxxor looked up, in time to see the tower-bot behind them toppling forward - straight toward them - as its lights flickered out. Dementia was clinging to the edge of its roof and launched herself as it struck pavement, the momentum propelling her forward just enough to grab the back edge of the van's luggage rack. Haxxor flung himself forward onto the roof, hooking his feet in the luggage rack as Virtus tried to steady the van's trajectory despite the instinct to swerve, and caught Dementia's free hand.

"One down!" Dementia crowed, crawling onto the roof with unusual stability, as it turned out. 

The tower-bot in front that had overshot them was slowing its gait in order to match pace directly over them; Virtus slowed to let it stumble forward again. The third tower, further down the road, bellowed its siren and caught them in its spotlight, dropping the vehicle it had been carrying like a dog sighting better prey.

"I'm sorry, I missed what you said," Shadowshine yelled at the phone.

"I said -"

"Yeah, once I dug in, there was stuff in there with our logo in it," Dementia said, looking into the van through the sun roof. "Gimme your phone."

" _Dementia!_ "

"Oh hey," Dementia said, reaching in and snatching the phone out of Shadowshine's hand. Her arm was dripping with oil and blood (presumably not hers) and other, less identifiable fluids. Virtus cringed.

"Hey!" Shadowshine flickered green and tried to grab it back, but Dementia swatted her hands away, flicking ichor across the inside of the windshield.

"Hey nerd!" Dementia shouted at the phone. "You sound weird!"

"Bad connection," Flug lied. "What's going on?"

"This bunch of kids -"

"Hey!" Shadowshine yelled again, but Dementia moved the phone further from her.

"- said Black Hat's in trouble -"

"Look, I know, focus! Tell me about the robots!"

"Somebody made guard tower robots with your processors," she relayed. "Those big spiral boards with the square in the middle -"

"Welp, hope the Privateer Industries guys have their affairs in order," Flug snorted. "Reselling is _expressly_ against contract. Those motherboards were a custom order!"

Dementia had her head and shoulders through the sun roof, holding the phone near her ear with one hand, and rolled her eyes and made yapping motions with her free hand. "But, right, getting rid of them," Flug went on. "All you need is to input the self-destruct code -"

"With my fists!" Dementia interrupted. "Been there, done that - hold on, doing it again." She abruptly tossed the phone at Shadowshine and pushed herself up as the nearer tower swiped at them. She dodged, but caught its leg that swept by, climbing fast.

"Dementia no! Don't -"

"She's off again already," Shadowshine said, fumbling the phone back to her ear as they shot out from underneath the tower. The third one was still coming. And... the first one was getting back up, lights flickering on again.

"How many are there? I only made three of those boards."

"Good news, there's three of them." Shadowshine looked out the back - the tower-bot that Dementia was now attacking was spinning in place, but the third one had almost caught up, and the briefly vanquished tower was tottering as though regaining its balance. "Bad news, there's three of them."

"This exit," the Ravens said in unison.

Virtus swerved and tried to slow as gently but quickly as possible, yelling up to Haxxor. "You okay up there?"

"Sick," Haxxor yelled back. "This was a terrible idea."

"Told you," Shadowshine snapped, flashing a smug blue.

"You have Haxxor with you?" Flug asked.

"Yo," the boy called out, voice warbling.

"This'll be easy, then," Flug said. "Shadowshine, you and Haxxor can activate the self-destruct and get it to transmit the kill order to all three. You just need to get into the control room of one of them."

"Oh, is that all," Shadowshine muttered.

"And don't let it bite you."

"Don't let - _what?!_ "

"There they are," one of the Ravens said. One of the other vehicles they'd stolen - a roomy SUV - was parked under the overpass next to where the highway exit emptied out. Blip peered out from its rear window.

The other Raven was already unbuckling her seatbelt. "Stop, lemme out."

"You said they made guard tower robots? With guards?" At Shadowshine's affirmative grunt, Flug explained, "Those chips were nanotech. If the components get damaged they incorporate materials from their environment to effect repairs as quickly as possible. If they're going into combat they automatically take in materials to prep just in case. Biologic, inorganic, it doesn't matter."

Virtus pulled up behind the other vehicle, shifted the van into neutral, and leaned forward to rest his forehead on the wheel, hands visibly shaking.

"So, what, they ate the guards?" Shadowshine asked, flushing green.

That was a shorter way to put it. Flug could acknowledge that. "They ate the guards."

"What the hell, Flug. Why did you sell somebody that."

A parade of wailing cop cars passed them, turning onto the highway, but with four Ravens cloaking their group, none even glanced their way.

"Cheaper than running our own tests. But I sent along manuals! Really detailed! Like three inches thick detailed! Not my fault if they didn't read them or didn't include the manuals when they _re-sold our tech which is expressly forbidden in the contract._ Dementia had _better_ remember to mention this once she gets home."

The Ravens hauled open the side door and hopped out, all but kissing the ground. Alex appeared at the van's driver's side window. "Virtus, are you okay?"

Virtus waved at Alex to quiet him, obviously distressed. "But if they just keep using their environment to fix themselves and Dementia keeps breaking them, what's to stop them _eating Bakersfield?!_ " he yelled. "My gran lives here!"

Flug refrained from telling Virtus to just go collect his family members on his way through if it was that important to him. "They're not going to stop at Bakersfield," he said cheerfully, before quickly amending, "I mean, if they're chasing you guys they'll follow you instead." 

There were crashing rumbles and screeches of metal and screaming sirens from the highway above. Gravel and dirt rained down. "Everybody back in the cars!" Virtus shouted.

"How do we get them to self destruct?" Shadowshine asked into the phone. "We get into a control room, Haxxor patches in and sends the self-destruct code - why do I have to be there?"

"Did I hear you guys right? _Lady Dementia_ is up there?!" Creeper dodged into the back of the van, dragging his heavy backpack across the seat.

"Didn't we say no swapping cars!" Alex yelled. "If he gets to ride with Virtus so do I!"

"Stop it! Get out! Alex, Creeper, get back in the SUV!" Shadowshine blazed as stern an indigo as she could muster, but there was green around the edges.

"We'll trade," one of the Ravens announced, but blinked when the one next to her didn't contribute. "Gally -"

"I'm still in," Gally said, climbing in. "You can trace us that way. Find us after," she added to her sister.

"But the police -"

A cop car shot off the edge of the overpass, crashing into the embankment on the far side of the road and bursting into flame.

"Right," the trading Raven said, immediately dodging away.

"Alex, it's gonna be a lot safer if you go with them," Virtus said, patting his boyfriend's hand on the door. "Find us after. You can't fix anything if you're the one hurt."

"Yeah but I don't _want_ to," the other boy whined.

Haxxor looked through the sun roof, splayed and securing himself with the luggage rack as Virtus started up the van again; it made a noise disturbingly like a perpetually chirping bird but still ran.

There was another massive crash above, this one much closer, and the distinct sound of cracking concrete. Dementia could be heard howling gleefully.

"Get us up there," Shadowshine told Virtus, gleaming distinctly sallow green highlights that deepened the shadows on her face. She clicked off her phone and shut it in the arm rest compartment between them.

"Did you get the deactivation code?" Haxxor asked as the two vehicles peeled out. The SUV continued straight while Virtus barreled back onto the highway, revealing all three towers - the second now toppled but stirring, the first one battling the police cars at its feet, and the third trying to catch Dementia as she crawled all over it - battling at the far end of the overpass.

"Flug wrote it on each of the processors so it wouldn't get lost." She began to fumble with her seatbelt with nervous hands.

"Well, that's handy!"

"In UV ink."

"Well that - where the heck do we get a blacklight to - oooooh."

"Let me up," she told him, moving to climb up through the sun roof. "Virtus, get their attention!"

Virtus sighed something about doom and laid on the horn.

The tower that was getting its jointed legs back underneath itself paused, spotlight scanning for a moment until it caught them. Its siren wound up again like a baying hound.

Virtus floored it.

"How are we getting up there?" Haxxor asked, holding tight to the luggage rack. "Dementia makes it look easy..."

"If we had a way to get out of its claws I'd say let it catch us."

Creeper slid open the van's rear sun roof, holding up a few freezer bags of some unidentifiable lumps of gray clay. "You guys want some plastic explosives?"

Shadowshine reached for the bags, but the van swerved a little, and she clamped her hand onto the edge of the sun roof instead. "Okay, so, we let it grab us, and when it gets us up there -"

"Guys?"

"How do we know it's going to do that? It could throw us." Haxxor was watching the approaching tower-bot.

"Hey guys," Creeper tried, still holding the bags.

"Well, if it means to turn us into parts -"

"It's running fine right now though -"

"GUYS," Creeper yelled. "Just slap that stuff on a leg and push the button." He held up a clearly modified television remote control with his other hand. "There's a detonator in each wad. Then you can _walk_ in."

Haxxor's eyes narrowed. "That's the missing remote from the TV in the dorm lounge."

"In my defense, I was left unattended."

"I GOT BLAMED FOR THAT, CREEPER."

"It's not like the TV didn't work without it."

"COPPER'S JERKASS FRIENDS HAD ME POKING THE TV TO CHANGE CHANNELS FOR THEM FOR THE PAST MONTH."

"Well what was I supposed to do, make a _manual_ detonator? _Seriously?_ "

"Just give me the freaking C-4," Shadowshine snapped, still glaring green as she snatched the bags.

"It's not C-4, it's -"

"HURRY UP, THE ROAD CURVES UP AHEAD AND I GOTTA SLOW DOWN!" Virtus shouted from inside the van.

It took all three bags, but finally one of the gobs of clay stuck to one of the tripod legs - but only after they'd slowed down so much for the curve that the tower almost stepped on them. Shadowshine and Haxxor ducked as the leg shattered, a few fragments of shrapnel embedding themselves in the back of the van. The two wads of plastic explosive that had missed and fallen onto the road left craters a few hundred feet away.

"Okay stop!" Haxxor yelled at Virtus as the tower tumbled forward and to the side, legs and tentacle-arms flailing as it tangled in the foliage on the curve's embankment and brought a few trees and a chain link fence down over itself.

"We gotta have a talk about safety," Shadowshine muttered at Creeper, who was crouched, giggling and lashing his tail, in the back seat. He'd watched through the rear window - which was now thoroughly cobwebbed from small impacts, but still intact.

Far down the road now, the other two tower-bots bellowed and began to follow. One almost immediately flickered and toppled, Dementia leaping to the other even as it fell. Shadowshine wondered if she even noticed that she'd taken that one down once already.

They slid down from the roof of the van and approached the thrashing tower from further up the steep embankment, stopping to scrape the sticky clay from their hands on the way. 

"Lemme go first." Haxxor clambered onto one of the fallen trees that pinned the core of the tower down, carefully heading for the control room where Dementia had already smashed windows open.

"Sure," Shadowshine mumbled, though Haxxor probably didn't hear her over the noise. For a few moments she watched the way the tower-bot fought to free itself like a trapped animal, lights blinking and sirens shrieking, before she followed to help put the thing out of its misery, ripples of green on her skin.

\-----------------------------

"So how did it go?"

"Tower-bots destroyed. I thought they'd blow up but they kind of disintegrated." Shadowshine leaned over so that the phone, propped in the arm rest of the back seat of the van, could pick up what she was saying as she struggled back into a pair of jeans, having finally discarded the bloodied sweats. Dementia was perched on the far side of the seat, leaning forward and carrying on an animated conversation with an enthralled Creeper.

"That would be the kill-order propagating through the compositional nanites, yeah." Flug paused. "There. Sending coordinates. GPS says there's an airfield - I'll pick up Dementia there."

The phone chimed with the text. "Got it," Shadowshine said, quickly relaying the text to Haxxor for mapping.

"What happened with Magnetite?" Flug asked. "He could've taken the towers down too, with his Powers."

"Uh." The teal that had been idly flowing over Shadowshine's skin shaded more green. "I. Um. I kind of slit his throat."

Flug was silent for a moment. "On purpose?"

"Oh! Yeah." She re-buckled her seatbelt as she pushed her feet back into her boots, then glanced at her sheathed paring knife, which she'd tucked into the back pocket of the seat in front of her. "Yeah, definitely on purpose. Turns out he was actually the one that ordered my parents killed. Wasn't happy about me being raised by people without Powers."

"Well that sucks."

"Yeah, that - that's the thing." Shadowshine picked up the phone. "I think I'm more troubled by having to put down the tower-bots. I mean, they were just doing their thing, not plotting and ruining peoples' lives on purpose."

"I can make more," Flug suggested, before catching himself. "I mean. Not _me,_ exactly... uh. Yeah."

She snorted. "Thanks, I think." And sighed. "I dunno. Like, maybe I think I should feel bad about Magnetite but I don't, and that _does_ make me feel bad, a bit. Maybe it just hasn't hit me yet?"

"Maybe?" Flug couldn't quite recall ever feeling that way. "I guess grief can make you do weird things."

A turquoise flicker passed over her skin, fading blue at the edges. "I guess so." She smiled. "So tell me about your day."

\-----------------------------

"Have you heard anything?" White Hat asked for the fourth or fifth time, sweeping confetti from the Gala venue's dance floor with a push-broom. He was always the sort to help clean up the events in which he had a hand, but to Slug it was more than obvious that he was distracting himself. It was nearly four in the morning, for crying out loud.

"Still nothing. Mercury Team hasn't found anything in the school ruins yet, so whatever they're using, it's been moved. Platinum hasn't reported back yet from Death Valley." Slug's arms were folded, but his fingers tapped on his arm, betraying agitation. "They should've checked in. You should've let me go."

"Dr. Slug," White Hat began in a chiding voice that made Slug roll his eyes and turn away. But he didn't continue for a moment, and then, very quietly, said, "Oh, no."

Slug's head whipped around, but there was nothing where White Hat had been but the broom clattering to the floor.

\-----------------------------

There was little but darkness surrounding Flug outside the cockpit of the Piper Comanche he'd appropriated. The stars were small constellations of towns, becoming smaller and less complex the further into the desert he flew. The actual stars were hidden somewhere above the overcast sky. The reflections of the instrument panel on the inside of the glass canopy were brighter than anything outside.

His head was starting to ache again, a dull pressure starting at the back. He fished in his pocket for the painkillers he'd snagged on his way through the hospital, but it didn't seem like they were going to help so much this time - he'd already taken some and the ache was still slowly, slowly sharpening and spreading.

Possibly he should've eaten something instead of tossing the stolen lunchbox out onto the highway when it had turned out to have a sandwich inside. Shadowshine had said she'd find something for him at the meet-up point, at least.

When the cellphone chirped again, he pulled it from the lab coat pocket, thinking that he might want to let her know that things were... progressing. But the text message wasn't from Shadowshine. The sender was listed as "FLUG PICK UP."

The message said "CALL."

He frowned, though he did have an immediate suspect for someone who knew who he was, who had recently had the phone long enough to make a contact listing. He patched the phone into the headset he'd found in the plane. "What do you want, White Hat."

"Guess again," Slug growled at him. "White's gone."

Flug blinked. "What do you mean, gone."

"I mean gone. Being a complete dork one second and disappeared the next."

Flug's jaw dropped. "What?"

"He got summoned! He keeps himself warded and _he still got fucking summoned._ "

"WHAT?!"

" _You said it was Black Hat that this bitch is trying to kill!_ "

"Shit!" Flug thumped back against the seat. White Hat had been the only backup plan he'd been able to come up with. If he crashed, if he failed, White might have been able to do something about it. Hell, White had probably already _been_ trying to do something about it. But even if he'd taken the time to detail everything he knew to the idiot it wouldn't have mattered. "Dammit, she meant both of them! I should have caught it, she - she wanted to free humanity from guidance and temptation - she meant -"

"Fuck." Slug shouted something unintelligible as the noise on his end of the connection increased. "Look, I'm almost in the air. You said this was going down in Death Valley - it's spellwork, so, what, Badwater?"

"Yeah." Flug swallowed, mouth dry. "Yeah, significant location -"

"Lowest point, salt flat for binding, got it." Slug shouted something else away from his microphone. "White sent a team to check things out but they didn't report in. It'll take me under two hours to get there but it'll be pushing it. No time to find a better 'copter. How long do these spells take?"

Huh. He hadn't thought about the salt. "Looked like a couple of hours from what I saw. She's aiming for dawn. The combination's pretty intricate, translating through multiple languages - maybe it won't work at all -"

"Can't count on that. She's got it started at any rate." Slug took a breath. "Right. Okay. You gonna make it? Somebody's gonna have to talk your boss down."

"I don't know. My head hurts." Flug swallowed again. His voice sounded small, somehow. "I'm picking up Dementia on the way. If I don't make it, she should."

"This does not inspire confidence for talking your boss down."

"And I do?!"

"Moreso than _her._ But she won't let him leave this world without her, so that's hopeful."

"Yeah, she's - she's focused." Flug licked his lips. "Listen. All you have to do is get my - my original out of there, okay? Without Y using him, Black Hat'll break free. She - she has to sacrifice something he values to make the binding permanent."

Slug swore again. "That doesn't help White Hat. Pretty much everything has value to him."

"Yeah, uh. That sounds like a White Hat problem to me."

"That is definitely a White Hat problem." Slug huffed. "The spells are all linked, right? Maybe they'll go like dominoes."

Flug found himself saying something he didn't expect at this point. "I hope."

\-----------------------------

"How long do we wait?"

It was a quarter till five in the morning. The van and the SUV had rolled up to the airstrip of a very small town around four, with the Ravens keeping anyone from wondering why there were vehicles parked at the facility so long after hours. The vehicles that had gotten separated remained so, taking another route "with more supply stops" - i.e., stores to steal from, though with three Ravens among them, it was more like the employees just forgot about payment. They were to meet up at a chosen rest stop on the way to the bunker in Nevada.

"This is where he said to meet." Shadowshine fidgeted on her feet, huddled in her new hoodie against the cold of the desert night. Still, the cyan that lit her face seemed to be taking on a more green hue.

"Not what I asked," Virtus mumbled. Every set of headlights that passed the mile-off turn onto the airstrip's access road made him nervous.

"He'll be here," Shadowshine reminded, nodding toward Dementia, who was sitting cross-legged a ways behind them on the dirt with Creeper, making Molotov cocktails from bottles and rags and chemicals that they'd found in the airstrip's small hangar. "He needs to pick her up."

"Here he comes," Haxxor called down from the airstrip's rustic excuse for a control tower - a wide-windowed room built on a scaffold of questionable quality. Shadowshine waited at the bottom, with most of the others clustered around or in the vehicles a few feet away. Haxxor was monitoring everything he could from the communications board. "At least, I hope it's him."

Virtus turned to the others at the cars. "Turn on the headlights." The airstrip was too small and rural for night illumination on its own.

The plane that perfectly touched down ten minutes later was somehow smaller than expected, but as it turned and taxied back toward them it was definitely Flug in the pilot's seat. The propeller was still spinning as he shut off the running lights and pulled off the headset. He didn't move right away, sitting still with his head back, but Shadowshine's phone chimed again.

_See? I can so land a plane._

"So, plot twist," he said a few minutes later, sliding down from the wing of the Comanche. "You know how White Hat was going to be Plan B?"

Shadowshine frowned - but still shone cyan-to-blue - as she approached, handing Flug a plastic bag from a gas station an hour back. "No Plan B?"

"More like Plan A-and-a-half. His people are trying but Instructor Y summoned him too." He held the bag open to look inside. "Oh thank god."

"Well, you said no sandwiches," she shrugged.

"No, this." He pulled out a canned energy coffee and almost forgot to open it before raising it to drink. "Taking pills dry is a bad idea. Don't do it."

Shadowshine flickered with green for just a moment, but it was Alex who spoke as the others approached. "How's your head doing?"

"Not too bad," he lied. "Yet." Not much of a lie. He set the can on the wing and fished inside the bag for something to eat. "Chili lime almonds. With coffee?"

"It was what I could grab that wasn't a sandwich. Have the soft pretzel first."

Flug sighed. "My last meal is junk food."

Shadowshine bloomed green and indigo, before pulling back to an even cyan. Not that there was any hope that he hadn't noticed. "At least you won't live to regret it?"

He grinned. "There we go."

"What the hell," Dementia shouted by way of greeting, walking toward them with an armload of suspicious rag-topped bottles and Creeper bounding along beside her. "Your face is all wrong."

"We _did_ explain," the Ravens started, but Dementia somehow juggled all the bottles into the crook of one arm to wave them off.

"No, I mean he's got eyes and a mouth and stuff. Also tits."

"Thank you, Dementia. Really. Thanks for pointing that out. I had somehow completely failed to notice any of that," Flug said dryly, eyes narrowed.

"Sure, no problem!" She passed the group, moving to the far side of the wing to set the bottles down.

"Why do I even," Flug muttered, raising his hands helplessly and rolling his eyes.

"Your hands." Shadowshine grabbed one, turning it over. "They're not scratched up any more."

"White Hat."

She flinched, but nodded, still unaccustomed to the being she'd been taught to call Mr. Hallow being referred to by his common name so easily. "When he healed you." Flug nodded, but she still didn't let go of his hand.

"Yeah." There was an awkward beat of silence before he pulled his hand away. "There's still time. Y's aiming for sunrise. Dispelling darkness symbolism, that sort of thing. I don't think she's as worried about White Hat." He took a deep breath. "But. You guys get as far away as you can, okay? And keep mountains between you and Death Valley. In case we... don't make it."

"But we can help," Shadowshine protested. "Dude we just took down giant robots and I _personally_ killed one of the strongest Power-users on the planet. Without a scratch. And I _really_ want Y dead."

"Two words. Nuclear bomb."

"But -"

"No." Flug sighed. "Look, you guys are good. You're just starting. You'll be great. You're also..." God, he couldn't believe he was doing this. "You're also the best chance everybody like us has, if we can't stop Instructor Y. You guys are Plan C."

"Is he seriously telling us to save the world _for Evil?_ " Haxxor asked, smirking. 

Flug scowled. "What do you want, dramatic music and waving flags? _Yes,_ basically."

"I'm not driving toward the nuke," Virtus volunteered. From the far side of the wing, Creeper gave a whine of disappointment.

"There's four seats in the plane," Shadowshine pointed out. "I could come with you by myself."

Haxxor glanced at Flug, then threw an arm over Shadowshine's shoulders. "And leave us without our fearless leader? No way." He turned to Flug. "We'll tie her up and throw her in the van if we have to."

"What the hell, I'm not..." Shadowshine glanced at the others, but all she got was a group of pointed stares in return. "Oh, come _on,_ " she grumbled, throwing Haxxor's arm off of her.

"At least we should be good for a while in the bunker, if you do miss the stopping-the-bomb part," Alex offered. "So yeah. Saving the world for Evil. Eheh." He tried not to look at Virtus, who was grinning at him.

"Just because I'm the oldest," Shadowshine laughed weakly. "Unless you maybe count Blip -"

"You don't," Blip called from the back of the group.

Her bio-luminescence pulsed green before fading back to blue, but there was no hiding the way her jaw clenched.

Flug tucked his hands into the lab coat's pockets, having set the bag of food on the wing. "It'll get easier. Keep talking. Try the Overlord major at Universidad de la Diablo; I hear it's pretty good."

"Heh." She made a conscious effort to stay cyan. "I lied, you know." The cyan flickered green again. She pushed her hands down in the pockets of her hoodie enough to stretch it.

"About what?"

"When I said you don't belong anywhere but... your home." She swallowed, looking down. "You could come with us."

Flug huffed, the corners of his mouth pulling differently now, and looked off into the dark around them. "You know I can't."

"Yeah. I know."

There was a bit of elbowing among the others, and they collectively began to drift back.

He looked back at the ground between them. "Thanks for the offer, though."

"Yeah."

They stood like that for a moment, before Flug's field of vision was obscured by Shadowshine's hair. She took the step forward, head still bowed, and tucked her head under his, forehead against his collar bone, hands still in her pockets.

"It's not a hug."

Flug's hands also remained in his pockets. "Yeah, no, I got that. Thanks." He swallowed tightly and hated the way it hurt in the back of his throat. "We gotta go."

"Yeah." Shadowshine stepped back, intense indigo fading back to blue, though the green streaks remained. "Go save your world."

"Cute." Flug stepped back as well.

"And kick Y's ass if you get the chance."

"Definitely. I got a tire iron and everything."

"Nice."

"I'll let you know how it goes. If I can."

"Do that."

"Are you _done_ yet?!" Dementia had finished stashing her improvised grenades in the Comanche and stepped back out on the wing.

"Wait!" Creeper jumped forward, grasping Dementia's hand just before she climbed back inside. "I really like you," he blurted out, tail switching back and forth in agitation.

"Aw man." Dementia's expression took on the closest thing to a gentile smile that Flug could ever recall seeing on her face. She took a deep breath and spoke in a gloriously rehearsed manner. "Sucks for you. My heart is spoken for."

"Well, duh." Creeper rolled his eyes, but smiled back. "But that doesn't make me not like you."

The gentleness left and Dementia's smile became more like her usual feral grin. "Keep blowin' stuff up, kid."

Creeper released her hand and stepped back, and saluted. "Will do!"

"Hey."

Flug turned back to Shadowshine, who held out her hand, holding something. When he reached out in response she dropped the sheathed ceramic paring knife into his hand.

"For Y," she explained. "Not that bashing her with a tire iron isn't good too."

Flug gave a half-smile. "Got it."

Dementia was already in the co-pilot's seat by the time Flug crawled in and sealed the door. He took the pilot's seat, fastened the belt, and was still for a moment before looking at her. "Did they relay everything?" he asked, reaching to initiate the startup sequence.

"You're a weird-ass psychic copy of Flug that's burning out pretty quick. Got it." She rolled her eyes, fastening her own belt, with unusual consideration. "Now quit stalling and get us to Black Hat."

Flug glanced outside and waved once as he turned the plane. They took off into the dark, leaving the small pool of light on the ground behind.

"Shit," Flug muttered a moment later. "I left my coffee on the wing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \------------------
> 
> THANK YOU FOR THE COMMENTS.
> 
> This chapter (and the last two) took a long time to do because a lot happens in them (which makes them run long - yesterday there was only supposed to be one chapter after this). Also because there was some Real Life stuff that ate my brain for a week+ there. But all is now well (or had better be, I'm looking at you, Catspit... no really I'm looking at you sitting five feet away).
> 
> So basically, I hope I remembered everything.
> 
> p.s. I obviously have feels about certain parts of California due to so many cross-country road trips. One time I took a wrong turn, wound up passing through Yosemite, went down that forgotten eastern edge of CA in the dead of night, and when the sun came up I was in the Nevada desert. It's traumatic. I swear half the towns listed on the google maps were dead and gone (and there was only like, six of them). It was totally flat and the road was straight from horizon to horizon, and smack dab in the middle was this impossible square of green that was a rest stop where they watered the grass. It's so incongruous that there *has* to be some weird government conspiracy crap going on there. ...And then I got lost trying to escape the desert, accidentally found Area 51, and wound up in Vegas anyway, which I could have done half a day sooner if I hadn't taken the wrong turn...


	18. Stop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be notes at the end of the next (final) chapter, rather than this one.

[Music: [Crop Circles by Brian Trifon & Brian White (Divergence Trailer Music)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YQIBLeaXCfQ)  
[Don't You Worry Love by Warmer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=28OrBNUwy9k) ]

"There's going to be no hiding our approach," Flug told Dementia as the last mountains rolled away underneath them. Death Valley opened up around them and almost directly ahead, there was a circle of iridescent light blazing skyward, previously hidden by terrain and distance. "They'll hear us coming."

"Huh? Why would we want to hide?"

"Dementia. Basic math." Flug scowled. "There's two of us and probably a _lot_ of them."

"Correction," Dementia said cheerfully. "There's one of you - sort of -"

"Gee, thanks."

"-And a bunch of them, and _one of me._ " She smirked, cracking her knuckles.

"Okay, but -"

Dementia let slip a chuckle like the hounds of war. "They are going to be praying for mercy so hard they'll be inventing new gods."

"Dementia," Flug tried, raising a hand to his upper lip and glancing at his fingers.

"Gods which I will _eat._ "

" _Dementia!_ "

"What?" She glanced at him. "Oh. Uh, you don't look so good."

"Listen, if I black out, you're going to have to take the controls, all right?" He blotted his bleeding nose on his sleeve. "And listen carefully. When we get there, all we have to do is get the - the _other_ me out of there, okay? Without him, Y can't finish the spell and Black Hat can get loose and take care of the rest."

"So no pounding dumb heroes to a pulp?"

"No more than we have to. Seriously, if we screw it up and she sacrifices him -"

"Well, _I'm_ not screwing up," she snorted. "Hattie's counting on me to save him." She smiled blissfully. "And then he'll be really grateful and throw his arms around me and profess his undying affection -"

"Yes. Yes, that is totally what's going on," Flug said, not quite able to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "Listen, the other me, he's hurt pretty bad, as of - as of when you attacked the Yolanda School. So you're probably going to have to carry him."

"How is Sweetums going to throw his arms around me if I'm having to carry you?"

" _Dementia._ "

"Well?"

"Rescue me first. _Then_ let Black Hat wreak havoc, _then_ you can put me down so he can throw his arms around you, all right?" Oh god, what had he just said.

"Three-step plan. Nice and simple, for once. I like it."

Flug glanced over at the sound of crinkling plastic to see her knocking back the package of chili lime almonds. "Those were mine," he muttered.

"You weren't eating 'em." When she couldn't pour any more of the almonds into her mouth, she started licking the spice residue out of the packaging. "Here, though, you can have my soda."

He hadn't even noticed her bringing on her own consumables. Though he wasn't sure if berry-flavored battery acid imbued with the caffeine of "a dozen cups of coffee", as the label said, could really be considered a consumable. There was, after all, a point of diminishing returns.

He took it anyway. "Thanks."

The spell site was below them less than ten minutes later. Flug circled, staying high to try to avoid attack from the ground, but could see around two dozen scrambling personnel.

"Looks like some environmental trucks, floodlights, tents - big helicopter." Dementia started to unbuckle her seatbelt. "Fly over the big light-up circle. I can just jump down and -"

"Dementia, wait -"

There was a sudden impact, jarring the entire plane. Something had clipped the right wing. Flug swore, struggling with the controls.

There was nothing there. They couldn't have hit anything unless...

"The circle!" he yelled, trying to keep the nose up. "It's a vertical wall, we just can't see it up here! Grab your bombs and bail!"

"I can't carry all of them!" Dementia shouted, already out of her seat. A moment later the cabin filled with rushing air behind him and he heard her fading voice screaming "DEATH FROM ABOVE!"

With the decrease in weight he stabilized enough to haul back, contacting the ground and cutting a furrow through the salt flat a moment later. He took a moment to breathe once everything went still. "Ha," he said aloud.

And sniffed. Fuel smell. Crap. He struggled out of his seatbelt and jumped through the door over the left wing that Dementia had left open, grabbing two of the remaining Molotov cocktails on the way.

The area was a salt flat, flat being the operative word. There was no cover. Flug ran and threw himself down at the _whoomph_ of fireball behind him as the fuel caught.

He carefully picked himself up. Head hurting, muscles aching, still-bare feet increasingly lacerated. No other damage. "Ha," he said again, smirking.

There was the distinct sound of a cocking rifle. "Hands up!" one of Y's goons instructed, a second one close beside. "Drop your weap- Uh."

Flug had raised his hands before he realized that he was still holding one of the Molotov cocktails. And that the rag had caught on the flaming debris from the Comanche. He glanced between it and the two troops, who nervously glanced at each other, then back at him.

"You can have it!" Flug yelped, tossing it at them and dodging to the side, toward the hundred-foot-diameter wall of light. He didn't look back to see what happened, instead rounding the curve of the wall to try to get it between them, but there was screaming involved.

He slowed when it didn't seem that he was being followed, becoming distracted by the light barrier. It was bright, swirling with pale colors, outright cold to the touch, and very, very solid. Flug paused and picked up a rock, and ground it against the surface, and all that happened was that the rock chipped.

Through the dimmer swirls of color, he could make out pulses of light on the ground, cycling through concentric rings of circles and runes. There were two similar pillars in the center of the circle, slightly offset - Black Hat and White Hat in their as-yet temporary binding circles, presumably.

Flug squinted. There was someone else there, nearly positioned to complete a triangle with the eldritch beings. Instructor Y, probably, still in her black dress. But to perfectly complete the triangle there was room for someone to be next to her...

...There was something at her feet. White, and red, and... oh.

Oh no.

He started running, rounding the outer barrier of the spell complex. He nearly stumbled over what turned out to be a corpse on the ground, this one wearing a different uniform, with White Hat's logo on the shoulder. He paused long enough to see the white SUV overturned a ways away toward the road, and the four other prone figures in the same uniform, left where they'd fallen. That explained the missing team that Slug had mentioned.

Not much further, and he found Dementia flinging Y's soldiers around like toys. Several of their trucks and tents were burning, the chaos keeping too many from getting close to her at once. There was an explosion - stored chemicals or munitions, it didn't matter. The noise was deafening. At some point Y's helicopter had taken off; he could hear it circling.

"We're too late!" He shouted. "Dementia -" He got as close to her as he dared. "We have to get in there! Dem -"

He saw the shadow moving toward her just out of her field of vision, and flung his hand out as though he could accomplish something despite his being ten feet away.

It accomplished something. A blade of wind sent dirt and salt into the man's face; he flinched back, raising his hands to his face.

Flug winced against the sudden sharp pain behind his eyes. Oh, sure, _now_ the ESPer abilities kicked in again.

"Keen!" Dementia yelled, scooping her would-be assailant into a head lock and tossing him aside with a terrible _crack._ "Do it again!"

"Dementia, Y has -"

A blue-white spotlight flicked on, centered on them. The helicopter. "Stand down!" one of Y's people shouted through a loudspeaker.

Dementia backed toward him until they were standing together, looking up at the wavering light. "Can you toss me up there? With the superpowers?"

"What?!" Flug gave her an incredulous look. "No!"

"Aw, go on, try."

" _Dementia!_ "

There was an ominous click. Someone in the helicopter started firing at them. Flug and Dementia dove out of the way in opposite directions.

And then, with a terrible noise, the helicopter was struck by something. It jerked aside enough to collide with the outer spell wall - and tore itself to pieces as it fell, exploding.

There was a second helicopter hovering behind where the first had been, gun ports open. No one had noticed it over the noise from the first. As it veered off to strafe Y's people, the spell barrier's light gleamed off White Hat's logo on the side. Slug.

"He made it," Flug mumbled, wiping blood from his nose again.

"Oh hey, it's Badass McSmartypants," Dementia shouted. "No fair! Leave some for me, jerk!" She chased after the now-scrambling adversaries.

Flug took a moment to close his eyes and collect himself, leaning and slapping his hands against the utterly smooth surface. He had to think. He just had to think. They could still do this. All he had to do was get past this protective barrier. If they could get in, they could get him - the other him - out of the spell complex. Just one more hurdle, and this would be easy, right?

"Hey, are you asleep?" Dementia called out.

Flug's eyes snapped open, and he realized that he was slumped down, sitting and leaning against the spell barrier. Dementia and Slug were jogging toward him.

Shit. Not good. "I must've blacked out," he mumbled as Dementia hauled him to his feet.

"Yes, I _know_ that," Slug said aloud, one hand to the frame of his goggles, looking at the barrier. "Just stop. Seriously. No. I get that, but no."

"What?" Flug frowned, confused.

"He's got Ass Hat patched through his goggles on a sub-vocal."

Slug's gaze flicked briefly toward Flug. "He modified himself so he can present without equipment and still harass me from afar even if he's talking to somebody else. Yes, I _know_ you can hear me. I told you -"

"Am I still alive?!" Flug demanded. "Slug, ask him -"

"Your other self is - well he's not great but he'll be fine if we can get him patched up."

Still alive. It wasn't too late. "Okay. We can do this," Flug nodded. "All we have to do -"

Slug's head snapped up. "Shit. Uh. Flug. Do you have a Plan B in case Black Hat can't get loose and stop everything?"

Uh-oh. "Why, what -"

"She put an explosive collar on the other you. And on herself. And they're armed."

\-----------------------

"Don't do this," White Hat pleaded, hands spread on the barrier of his circle. "Yolanda, please, don't do this."

"Oh, hush," Black Hat snapped, standing abnormally still, hands folded over the top of his cane. "If she were inclined to stop, she'd have done so by now."

"Quite correct," Instructor Y said, tilting her head to adjust her explosive collar's position. "Now, then. The final component of the spell is already aimed and on the way, so there's no need to draw this out further. This will end those I've been working through, obviously, but that's hardly important. This is what's best for all of humanity." There was a very, very slight edge to her tone that suggested that she might be seeking confirmation. "Nothing can stop what's coming now."

"Nothing at all?" Black Hat placidly raised an eyebrow. "My, you've thought of absolutely everything, haven't you. Tell me, what precautions have you taken regarding exterior interference?" The toe of his shoe pressed very, very tightly against his circle's boundary, the translucent wall of energy deforming just a tiny, tiny bit. There was perhaps a minute left in it before it could be shattered.

Y caught herself before she glanced over her shoulder at the meaningless conflict outside the barrier. She laughed. "I'm sorry, but I won't have time to answer you." She held up her wrist and pointed to the count down on her watch as the tiny electronic beeping and the blinking of the lights on the collars increased their pace still further. Somehow she appeared terrified and smug at the same time.

"Well." Black Hat huffed, smile dropping away. "You're no fun."

"Don't," White Hat whispered desperately.

Y only smiled sadly at him. "I really am sorry. What you are is not your fault, dearest, but cannot abide. Making myself important to you has been a pleasure."

Lying on his side, shuddering in pain from the wounds to his hip and head, Flug uncurled enough to push up on one elbow and lift his face toward Black Hat. The red lights on the collars blinked so fast that they appeared to be flickering, the alarms becoming a thin constant whine.

Black Hat lowered his head fractionally, the brim of his hat hiding his eye.

"Jefe-"

There was a surprisingly small, wet snapping sound.

Black Hat flinched.

Blood spattered on the circle boundaries, glowing for a moment before being absorbed. The very tip of the toe of Black Hat's shoe, a fraction of a millimeter over the edge of his binding circle, evaporated.

White Hat roared in futile anguish, his binding circle suddenly filled with a mass of lashing pale tentacles as Instructor Y's body and the remaining crown of her head toppled in different directions, blood and bone fragments and pulped gray matter dripping from both.

Black Hat sighed in disgust. " _Must_ you become so attached."

Crumpling, White Hat wailed and helplessly beat against the binding spell, though it was debatable if Black Hat had even been talking to him at all.

\-----------------------

"Ohshit," Dementia yelped, trying to shield her eyes with her hands to see through the barrier better - though the sudden flare of magic had been obvious.

Slug made a frustrated sound, yanking the goggles and paper bag from his head, and none of them cared. "Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up, just shut up -" He kicked at the bag, and looked back toward the center of the circle, now much obscured without his goggles' enhanced vision. "Fuck," he muttered, taking a step back, shoulders sagging.

There was no time. No chance.

One chance. Flug pressed his hands against the barrier, ignoring the numbing static feel crawling up his arms, and closed his eyes. And silently pleaded, and begged, and _willed._ And screamed aloud.

There was a sudden blast of telekinetic force from his hands.

The recoil threw him backward to the ground, unconscious.

The wall wasn't even scratched.

\-----------------------

"Well, crap. That didn't work. ...Dr. Flugslys?"

There was no sense of light, or dark, or color, or space. But there was a voice that shouldn't be his, calling for him.

"Dr. Flugslys? Come on. Hey. Flug? Kenning? Just - can you just -"

Flug didn't open his eyes, but he became aware that he was lying on his back on a surface that didn't feel like anything. So he sat up, or felt that he did, and could see.

He was right where he'd fallen, but his head only throbbed with a dull ache, and the spell circles' outer barrier was now an opaque, obsidian-like black wall, highly reflective. There was no one else around to be seen.

"Oh thank heavens," the voice exclaimed.

The reflection in the wall wasn't his; it didn't move with him as he got to his feet. It wasn't the reflection he'd been seeing for the past week, either - not really. The woman reflected in the wall stood with her hands clasped in front of her, long wavy silver-violet hair spilling down her back, wearing a white and lavender dress-based superhero uniform with an asymmetrical hem. Flug had seen it before, in memories half a century old, in Antarctica.

"Hi," Jeanne said, smiling awkwardly.

"This is your fault," Flug blurted out.

"You know that's not true." The exchange seemed to make her a little more comfortable.

"Shut up." Flug stepped forward, moving aside to feel the surface of the wall next to her. "No wonder we're not getting through..."

"Yeah." Jeanne looked over her shoulder. "Listen, there's a lot I want to say, but not much time..."

"Where have _you_ been for the past week?" He snapped.

"Right where I was supposed to be." She tapped the side of her head, and Flug felt the small impact and heard the crinkling of the inexplicable paper bag he knew he was wearing. "Keeping you _inside_ a wall like this so my mother couldn't rip you to shreds. And hiding myself inside that for the same reason. You're the one that's been in the wrong place, remember?"

"I still don't know how I got here." Flug pulled off one of the lab gloves his envisioned self was wearing and ran his fingernails down the wall. Pale streaks followed the movement, more smudges than scratches; they seemed to heal over within moments.

"I was observing through the Copper Kid when your - uh, your boss, put your -" she waved one hand. "Your backup system, I guess, on his head. So it downloaded you into both him and me."

"You shouldn't have been there." It was as close to an apology as he could muster.

"I thought I had to do what my mother wanted. And she wanted to know things you know." Jeanne shrugged. "Good thing your paper bag monster is a really strong anti-telepathy barrier."

"I like 'backup system' better."

"Okay." She neither apologized nor argued.

Flug frowned. It seemed to be getting darker, somehow. As though the barrier was absorbing light, or...

"You know what's happening," Jeanne said quietly, glancing around herself.

"It's not a very compatible download."

"No. Not really."

"You - you were here the whole time," Flug realized. "You could have stopped me from taking the Blackbird and getting too close to Black Hat. Then we wouldn't be degrading this fast."

"But I didn't." Jeanne clasped her hands again, looking away. "I could say I didn't have the ability to influence so directly - I really didn't right then! But it doesn't matter. We'd be in the same position just from what my mother did to us." She shrugged. "Things like us don't live long anyway. Human bodies aren't made for it. Even under the best circumstances we'd only have survived maybe a couple of months like this, with both of us crammed in here." She glanced back at him without turning her head, almost sly. "The overlap is really interesting, though. The things you feel -"

" _Shut up._ " Flug was caught between unreasonable embarrassment and defiance, even if logically Jeanne knew perfectly well how incorrect her mother's dictation of his feelings had been.

Jeanne laughed, loud and open and unrestrained. "I was just going to say it's - it's like waking up. You're too intense for the filters my mother installed in my head to keep everything deadened. Being able to feel is addictive."

"That's _not_ where you were going with that."

She managed to tone it down to giggling. "Well if you _want_ to talk about intense feelings -"

"Fucking telepaths," Flug muttered, which prompted further laughter, though it made him remember something else. "Dick. Er, Monobeam. You killed him."

Jeanne abruptly stopped laughing. "I - um. Not - not really. I mean, he was barely there any more. Mostly just a shell my mother made obsessed with me. And that was getting dangerous, obviously." She sighed. "It was more like putting the memory of him out of his misery."

"That sounds like a lot of justification."

"He wasn't always a jerk, but he was a jerk, and would never not be a jerk again."

"Same thing, different words."

"You're also a jerk. Just a completely different kind."

"Thanks, I think."

"Similarly obsessive, too." She made a face. "Who do you think got you out of the Wellspring and got the sprinklers going to get you physically out? You would've stayed in there and burned yourself out for nothing, and taken Shadowshine with you."

Flug's eyes narrowed; he avoided her gaze. "It didn't feel like nothing." It had felt like finally getting the recognition he wanted.

Her expression softened. "Yeah. I know."

He looked up at her again. "You called her Shadowshine."

"It's her name, isn't it?" She smiled again. "Thanks for letting me be a villain for a week. I can remember everything I ever forgot, now, and it all looks different. It's been... enlightening." She raised her hands. "Don't take that as me necessarily condoning anything though. You really are pretty messed up."

Flug blinked. "Uh. You're welcome, I guess?"

"I mean, from in here I can see how you got to where you are, but jeez..."

"You can stop now."

She chuckled and smiled, but the smile almost immediately faded. "I wish I could've done something for Marmot, though. He didn't deserve any of this. He just didn't know any better than I did. He was so happy to get to know me again every time I reset... that was something... real." She sighed, and drew herself up, and pushed at her hair in a (given circumstances) futile gesture to make sure it was out of the way. "Ready to end this?"

"No."

"Me neither." Jeanne spread her hands, and one of the translated copies of a torn-out grimoire page appeared flattened against the surface of the obsidian wall, on the inside, as though she held it up against glass. "I've been going over those translations. Remember this one?"

"Obviously." The page held a fragment of the exterior warding circle diagram.

"All you need is a knife that's been used in a human sacrifice, and you can cut through the outside barrier."

Flug squinted at the page. "Yeah, if you use the Words-of-Will here and burn your soul." He snorted. "I don't have mine handy. I'm pretty sure it's on a shelf somewhere." He looked down, hissing through his teeth - this particular circumstance was something about which he usually tried to avoid thinking. "Well... I _hope_ it's on a shelf..."

"I'll use mine."

He abruptly straightened and stared at her. "Why?" He took a step back, facing something frightening. "Why would you do that?"

"What, self-sacrifice?" She shrugged. "Kind of hero modus operandi, isn't it?"

" _For Black Hat?!_ "

"For our world," she corrected. "The one where there's people like both of us that can know that what my mother's trying to do is wrong, no matter how different we are. Without the Hats controlling the extremes, we'd wind up with people like my mom running things. Or worse people that _didn't_ think they were doing the right thing, but just as power-hungry. It'd be bad."

His eyes narrowed again. "That sounds suspiciously like hero bullshit."

"Oh, come on, what do you want me to say," Jeanne rolled her eyes. "That I'm so pissed that my mom's been abusing me, and people I loved, and lots of people I didn't even know, for my entire life, that I'm willing to erase myself if it means keeping her from pulling off her plan?"

Flug folded his arms and raised an eyebrow, which somehow was communicated with perfect clarity despite the bag and goggles.

Jeanne folded her arms as well. "It can be both," she said defensively.

"Better." Flug nodded, then straightened with realization. "Where do we get a sacrificial kni – oh." Jeanne held up the ceramic paring knife, or at least, presented the thought of it.

"I could say something really poetic here about Magnetite having been sacrificed on the altar of his sins, but you get the idea."

"Does that qualify?"

"One way to find out. ...Oh. Uh. By the way?"

"Huh?"

"Thanks for letting me dance again. Both were marvelous." She flashed another smile. "Now let's do this."

Flug opened his eyes, and knew he was awake because everything hurt. He sat up; his head was pounding enough that he nearly lost his poor excuse for a last meal.

Dementia was shouting incomprehensibly, kicking and clawing at the spell barrier, which was made of soap-bubble light again. Slug was just standing next to his discarded bag and goggles, gloved hands in his pockets, staring into the circle with an unreadable expression.

There was a sound like thunder rolling somewhere above the clouds, far off to the northwest. It wasn't thunder.

Flug pushed himself to his feet, swayed, and staggered toward the barrier, pulling the knife from his pocket and flicking the plastic cover from its blade with his thumb. He raised the knife in his fist, opening his mouth.

The voice that came out was at least the appropriate voice for the body in question - it was just that there were words involved without the mouth moving at all. Jeanne shouted ear-rending syllables of a dead language that should have stayed dead.

Dementia and Slug turned in time to see him stumble between them and bring the knife down on the barrier. It sank in, blazing like a plasma cutter, blinding bright. Slowly, slowly Flug forced the blade down, dragging, leaving a neon-bright elastic rip that gushed liquid light in its wake.

Slug glanced over his shoulder at the approaching sonic boom, and turned back to find Flug beginning to sag. He grabbed around his torso, holding him up. Dementia covered Flug's hands with hers and pushed, forcing the knife down, widening the opening. Light-blood shrieked out in a storm of sparks and ozone wind, tearing at all three of them.

Through the screaming opening, White Hat and Black Hat could be seen within their individual binding walls at the binary center of the pulsing circle. White Hat abruptly re-coalesced into his preferred presentation, hands against his barrier again, shouting something unheard.

Black Hat grinned.

The knife crumbled in Flug's hands, doubled voice dying out in a hoarse gasp. His head fell forward. The edges of the tear in the barrier dripped light toward each other, immediately trying to bleed back together.

Flug lifted his head. "I know how to stop it!" he panted, grabbing at the edges of the gap to try to pull himself through.

"Get his legs!" Dementia shouted. With how rapidly the barrier was healing itself, there was no time for consideration. She and Slug lifted Flug and shoved him through. He landed in a heap on the other side, unmoving, and the tear sealed shut behind him.

"Flug!" Dementia pounded on the barrier, screaming at him. "Move!"

He heard his name called, but it sounded far off and muffled. For a moment he couldn't move. Everything hurt. He could feel his nose dripping blood.

The sound barrier over the valley shattered in an ominous roar.

**"FLUG!"**

Flug's entire body gave a jolt. That voice scratching unnaturally through his eardrums wasn't Dementia.

"Get _**UP,**_ you SPINELESS **GIBBERING** _**MEALWORM!**_ "

"C-coming, sir," Flug choked out, starting to push himself up before he even opened his eyes. His joints tried to tell him that they were on strike due to mismanagement and he ignored them.

"Stop being such a _TURBID piece of_ _**DETRIUS**_ and _**END**_ this _travesty,_ you _**pathetic BACTERIUM!**_ "

"Detritus," Flug muttered under his breath. "You can stop now." He staggered with increasing speed toward the center of the circle. Each of the embedded metal sigils he stepped on burned his bare feet, and he couldn't care any more. Balance was in short enough supply as it was.

He stumbled to his knees over his own decapitated body and tore at one side of the stained lab coat, delving into an inside pocket. His hand closed over what he needed, and he raised it over his head, kneeling for stability.

"I know you're watching," he breathed without looking away from his task. He checked to be sure of the setting, aimed, and pulled the trigger of the shrink ray.

The roar of destruction bearing almost directly down on him became a scream of increasingly high pitch as the plummeting Silbervogel - Marmot dead at the controls - shriveled in the beam of green light. The sudden compression detonated the atomic payload, but the explosion was shrinking as well, with nowhere to go but back into itself, the dissipation spell carvings obliterated. With an ear-popping rush the aircraft exploded as it turned from missile to drone to toy to miniature to marble to spark.

At the eastern edge of the valley, the thinnest blaze of golden light crested the mountains, painting everything in warmer colors. Sunrise.

Nothing happened.

Flug lay on his back, staring up at the hole that the shrink ray had punched in the overcast sky, showing orange-pink above the blue-gray clouds. The rain that the shrink ray had condensed from the clouds overhead disappeared in an insignificant spray before touching the ground.

He turned his head and squinted at the brilliant pinpoint of cool white light that had cratered in the dirt next to him. Nuclear fission catastrophically compressed into a fusion singularity - a star-seed, resting perfectly in the empty circle offset from the center of the spell like an orbiting planet, intended for the undelivered intersecting spell.

Gasping out a laugh, Flug rolled to the side and, shaking, pushed himself up. His head felt like it was trying to separate from his neck with how badly it was pounding. He glanced at the headless corpse next to him and laughed again, wiped his bleeding nose on his sleeve, clambered to his feet, and faced the two beings locked before him in the opposing central circles of the spell complex.

White Hat opened his mouth, and realized that Flug didn't so much as spare him a glance, and closed his mouth again. His shoulders sagged and he sank to his knees and sat with his back to the other two.

Flug took a step forward, toward Black Hat, and drew himself up, shoulders back. "And here at the Gala, you said I was useless."

"Bah. I only told you that to motivate you," Black Hat shrugged. "Had I not, you'd have considered your task complete, your warning relayed, and you'd have allowed yourself to die early. And then where would we be?"

"I see." Flug's mouth twitched. "Of course. You had this all planned, obviously."

"Of course."

"You really expect me to believe that?" Things were getting indistinct around the edges, gray, with little streaks of color-pulsing light beginning to cluster a little to the side of center. But Flug could still see Black Hat's face.

Black Hat grinned widely. "No."

Flug blinked; he hadn't expected an honest answer.

"But it was probable." The creature raised one hand and shrugged in a mimicry of ease that his situation belied. "It's in your contract. You are mine in perpetuity. This was merely a condition of contractee that had yet to be tested."

This time Flug didn't bother not to laugh. "You think I'm here _because of my contract._ "

"Aren't you?"

White Hat's head turned very slightly toward the exchange.

Flug only laughed again, harder this time.

"Oh, enough. You know what you have to do," Black Hat reminded with a roll of his eye and a shooing motion, still standing at ease as though speaking at all didn't betray his impatience.

"Yeah, yeah." Flug took perhaps the only opportunity he'd ever have to blow off his boss' time demands with impunity, turning his back as he pulled the cracked cellphone from the pocket of his now-filthy stolen lab coat. He fired off a text, and then quickly turned the phone off and tossed it aside into the weirdly sparkling salt-dirt.

Without looking, he stepped past the headless corpse that wasn't him any more, instead approaching the paper-bag-colored confusion of folds and shape lying spread out on the ground in a pool of varying shades of red and gray and off-white.

"It changes the new body to match its subject. If I'm _me_ then I'm not dead, so the sacrifice for the permanent binding is negated. The way these circles are constructed, that should break down the entire thing." He glanced over at Black Hat, though it was getting hard to see around the rainbow zig-zags arcing through his vision. "Right?" It was becoming difficult to hear over the blood in his ears, too.

"In theory."

Flug looked down at the flat brain leech again. "Well, if not? You're on your own." He was still smiling, despite the pounding in his skull. The sun was already warming the air; he could feel wind rushing over his skin in places that scars had dulled for years. He could smell earth and dust and salt and blood; all but the blood would be too subtle for his own fire- and chemical-damaged sense of scent, once he was himself again. That should take the edge off the blood scent, too, so he could look forward to not feeling so nauseated, between that and the cessation of the pain in his head.

He wouldn't have any of these ESPer genetics to deal with any more, either. From past experience he knew that the transformation would be painstakingly thorough - the other times he was now certain this had happened, he'd never detected any deviation from his own recorded physiology.

In moments, he wouldn't have _anything_ to deal with any more, regardless.

It wasn't as though he'd been supposed to exist in the first place. This was nothing more than course correction.

He knelt, and reached out and lay his hand on the leech-thing, and felt only rough paper under his fingers. He wondered if it was bothered by how many times it had needed to do this, or if it was sentient or sapient at all, or if it carried its own memories aside from its host's. 

And he had to accept that he was never going to know. He could barely see at all any more, so he ran his fingers over the surface until he found an edge, and got his hands under it, ignoring the slick gore and lifting it up. "Come on, you. I don't have all day."

He felt the moment that it realized, and twitched, and writhed in his hands. It spilled strangely like silk from his fingers, onto his head, and he could feel it _moving._

Oh yeah. He laughed again. "Almost forgot," he said, turning blindly in Black Hat's direction. "There's some future customers I said I'd give a discou- _agh!_ "

There was an intense crunching sound-sensation that burned so much worse than fire. His lungs said he was screaming but he couldn't hear anything. Why the hell had he thought that nothing could hurt worse than the headache his dying brain was already suffering?

But then nothing hurt at all.

\--------------------------------

In an instant, Black Hat's binding cracked and shattered into nothing, the spell's conditions undone. Cracks coursed through the light of the circles and sigils until White Hat's binding and the external barrier shattered as well. The light flickered out and left only the bleary sunlight of a clouded dawn.

Black Hat stepped out of his circle and moved to stand over Flug's convulsing, now-silent form. The movements had been more violent at first, but were dying away now. The body was already noticeably thinning and lengthening.

White Hat stood slowly, head bowed, holding himself miserably.

"SWEETHEAAAAART!!!" Dementia had started to run the moment the outer barrier broke, and launched herself at the object of her affections full-tilt. Black Hat side-stepped and let her land face-first in the dirt - but didn't move when she immediately sprang up and threw her arms around his waist.

"I knew you'd be okay! I knew Flug would do it!" As usual, she yelled with no sense of volume, burying her face in his coat. "Is there anything you need me to do? Want me to beat up this wuss?" She released him with one arm so as to jerk a thumb at White Hat.

"Let go of me," Black Hat suggested with all the patience of a caged tiger. "And go collect Flug's things." He waved at the headless corpse a little ways away, but didn't shift his attention.

Dementia immediately released her hold and slithered backward to salute him. "Yes sir, darling, sir!"

Black Hat twitched, but still didn't look away.

"How can you do this to him," White Hat murmured, shuddering as he followed Black Hat's gaze. "How can you _know_ and still -"

"Oh, what do _you_ know," Black Hat scoffed at him, before looking back down at the twitching body at his feet, avidly watching something _interesting_ once again forming itself out of raw materials. "What do _I_ know, for that matter," he added quietly. "I'm only evil. He's _human._ " He said the word as though savoring some delicacy, outright salivating.

Off to the side, there was a slight hiss as Dementia burned her fingers attempting to pick up the newly formed star-seed. "Ow!"

"I'm not sure either of you are entirely either, any more," White said, just as quietly. He turned his back on his counterpart, dusting himself off, sighing heavily.

Black Hat sneered. "You're a romantic." Though in his comment, White Hat was also heavily implying uncertainty of his own moral composition, which was a delight all its own.

"Ow!"

"And you're not?" White Hat murmured, but didn't turn again. It would have meant seeing the corpses again, and it was already difficult to stand, knowing they were there. So many dead and he hadn't been able to do a thing. He had, in fact, been the indirect cause of quite a lot of it. His shoulders sagged at the thought of what Y had been through, and what she'd put so many others through, and he'd never realized any of it. All he'd known was how adoringly she'd looked at him and how much _good_ she'd done.

A pair of steel-toed boots came to a halt just within White Hat's field of vision. "Stop it," said the owner of the boots.

White jerked his head up. Slug was standing in front of him, arms folded, wearing his paper bag and goggles again, though the bag was now somewhat crumpled.

"Ow!"

"You're moping. Stop it," Slug clarified. "You're going to have to walk to the helicopter. I'm not dragging you."

"Slug..." White Hat looked like he was tearing up, which set Slug's teeth on edge for a number of reasons, not the least of which was that White only had tear ducts in the first place because he purposely manifested them.

"You - you _stayed!_ " White threw his arms around the shorter man. "You could have left and been safe but you - You chose to -"

"By the time I got here it would've been too late to get far enough away from a nuke anyway. I just got tired of listening to you whine at me to leave, is all," Slug insisted, standing rigid with arms still folded. "Anyway, I already called for transport for the survivors. Some of them weren't mind controlled so they didn't die when Y did, but the murder lizard chewed through 'em pretty hard. Could you get a move on? Deserts heat up fast."

"Ow! Ow ow ow ow ow -"

" _Dementia,_ " Black Hat snapped.

"Here you are, honey!" Dementia kicked the former Flug's lab coat, wrapped into a bundle around the possessions she'd stripped from both bodies, toward Black Hat. She had donned Flug's goggles like a crown and put on his reinforced lab gloves, and was juggling the miniature star from hand to hand despite its weight, burning holes in the gloves with each contact. "What do you want to do with this thing? You know what I think it would be great as? I think it would look _fantastic_ as an engagement ring -"

Black Hat snatched it from her and popped it into his mouth, maintaining eye contact as he crunched and swallowed.

Dementia giggled, lashes fluttering. "Was it good?"

"Same goes for you guys," Slug yelled from the open side door of the helicopter. "If you need a ride -"

Black Hat slowly turned to face the helicopter, growling. 

"Fine then, be that way," Slug grumbled, sliding the door shut. The rotors started a moment later.

Dementia bent to grab up the bundle of possessions, noticed the deactivated purple cell phone lying on the ground within reach, and added it to the impromptu sack. "Leaving the corpses?" she asked pleasantly as she tied the bundle with the coat's sleeves again.

"I don't see why not." Black Hat picked some unidentifiable insect from his teeth and flicked it away into the delicate ecosystem of the frequently visited national park land.

Dementia nodded and proceeded to completely forget the bodies' existence, and came to stand next to her beloved. "Is he gonna be okay?" she asked, looking down at the body - now lying still, but for the occasional twitch - in front of them. The brain-leech had almost completely returned to accurately mimicking a paper bag. Dementia knelt and deftly slipped Flug's goggles into place.

"Of course not," Black Hat responded, watching almost hungrily. There were entirely too many teeth in his smile. "He'll be Flug."

\-----------------------------

It was some hours, thanks to cellphone signal varying widely the further they got from civilization, before Shadowshine received the text. She was sitting on a picnic table at the isolated rest area they'd chosen as a rendezvous point, chewing on the stick of a lollipop she'd finished some time ago. Waiting.

She yanked the phone from her pocket the moment it chimed, flashing cyan. The first line of the two-line text read,

_Y is dead._

Her color faded to indigo streaked with green at the second line.

She sat and simply stared at the phone. Her bio-luminescence went dull as clouds wandered away from the desaturating desert sun. When another cloud passed over and provided shade, blue was gleaming around the edges of her face.

Shadowshine tucked the phone back into her hoodie, hopped down from the table, flicked the lollipop stick into the nearby trash can, and walked toward where the others waited.

_I'm okay._

[Cue end theme music like a 90s movie:  
[Ok by 8 Graves](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AwkF2gNHSrE) ]


	19. .

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wouldn't be a proper story involving superheroes if there weren't end credits scenes. (And ending notes.)

[ The mid-credits scene... ]

[Music: [Villainous Thing by Shayfer James](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cwCdShFGjwI)]

"Sir?" Flug's hands clenched tightly enough to wrinkle the stack of papers he held before him like a shield. Facing Black Hat in his office was an everyday, but invariably intimidating, experience. "We seem to have - uh. We've received a letter from the Heroic Preservation Society regarding your... membership?" He generally knew better than to question, but this one was still enough to give him pause.

Seated behind his desk, Black Hat leaned back in his chair with his elbows on the chair's arms, long fingers steepled, and crossed his feet at the ankle on the desk. He raised his right eyebrow - Flug's only indication to continue.

"Apparently it's been revoked due to... ah." Flug glanced down at the papers again for a moment. "Inappropriate interpersonal behavior at the... Heroes' Gala?" He curled the top page over the back of the paper-clipped stack. "There's also sexual harassment charges filed against you on behalf of an attendee." He turned another page. "Also a related abduction charge as said attendee is now listed as a missing person..."

Black Hat grinned in a way that would literally be ear-to-ear if he bothered with having ears.

Flug turned several other pages, attempting to ignore that he was reasonably certain that he was being leered at. The off-color saliva slowly dripping from Black hat's lower lip did nothing to contradict the notion. "...And apparently the National Park Service is requesting a meeting with their lawyers? Something about destruction of property. Also murder." He flipped up another page, mumbling. "I don't recall any of this..."

Black Hat began to outright cackle.

"Welp, I'm uncomfortable now." Flug took a few steps back. "Right. I'll just file these with the last batch, then."

He dropped the stack of papers into a trash can that wandered by as he left the office.

\---------------------------------

[ ...And the post-credits scene. ]

[Music: [We Belong by Pat Benetar (thank you Deadpool)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gXWWRWrpH1o)]

With a shriek and groan of metal, a light split darkness: metal doors being pried open.

Virtus let go of one of the doors to focus on pushing the other open far enough that the group could enter. The space on the other side of the door was vast, stories tall, and dark. Shadowshine slipped through, shining cyan and checking the walls around the doors until she found a light switch.

High above, lights snapped on to reveal a massive half-century-old missile silo - full of evenly spaced missiles. Everything seemed to be plastered with glaring yellow and black radiation warning symbols. Nuclear missiles.

The teens stood and stared for a moment, until green hands slipped between two of the others to move them aside. Creeper pushed his way through, grinning.

"Sssssssss."

"Oh boy," Gally muttered.

"Sssssssss," Creeper hissed, stepping away and turning around to face them, arms spread and expression giddy.

"Seriously, dude?" Alex rolled his eyes.

"Sssssssssssss _ **BOOM!!!**_ " Creeper whirled and danced into the room, cackling loudly.

"If I ever find out who let him play Minecraft," Haxxor grumbled, "I am going to have _words_ with them."

\---------------------------

[Outtake: that moment when I realized the Gala was happening.]

Catspit: [asked me something]

Me: Hold on, I'm averting Flug having to go shopping for a gown and get dragged to the charity gala on Friday (it's Tuesday)

Catspit: Flug. Gown. Black Hat is wheeze-laughing and slapping his knee over here. 

Me: _Shadowshine: Spalpeen and Cardshark suddenly and inexplicably cashed in their sabbatical and ditched. Y is pissed.  
Probably going to take you with her to the Gala on Friday.  
Flug: We are blowing this joint no later than Thursday night._

Catspit: [this. not even cackling, just genuine, uncontrollable laughter  
[[Relays this art just to make sure I know what he's talking about](https://mahalidael.home.blog/2017/06/02/crispcomet-listen-i-just-want-to-see-a-genuine/)]

Me: _Flug: THIS IS NOT THAT KIND OF FIC GODDAMMIT_

[Narrator: It was exactly that kind of fic.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \------------------
> 
> ...A.K.A. "that time Flug (briefly) found out about the Flat."  
> The Flat is an amalgam of a couple of things, but is mostly, in appearance at least, based on the brain leeches in ["The Vaults of Yoh-Vombis" by Clark Ashton Smith](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TpHzuPdAsw0) ([available free to read here](http://www.eldritchdark.com/writings/short-stories/231/the-vaults-of-yoh-vombis); if you think I abuse semicolons, check this out), and the mountain monster known as the Flat in ["The Desrick On Yandro" by Manly Wade Wellman](https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/cryptids-in-classic-fiction-desrick-on-yandro-by-manly/id1448284008?i=1000438021529) (Podcast linked; [I can rec. the entire anthology that the story's from, available free to read here](http://baencd.freedoors.org/Books/John%20the%20Balladeer/index.htm).)
> 
> Anyway. Now you can all suffer as I have suffered (mostly) alone and in (imperfect) silence. I mean, you know. Assuming it works for you. Scream at me and rip me to shreds in comments if it doesn't. Or if it does.
> 
> Believe it or not, I didn't know "OK" by 8 Graves until a couple of months _after_ that running gag had coalesced and solidified in the ending. Catspit had found it last year, thrown it on a Flug RP playlist, and forgot about it, and I'd never heard it. He found it again a month or so ago and we kind of freaked out because it's unusually pertinent throughout. ...A _lot_ of things like that have happened with this fic. It's been pretty creepy. Which is appropriate, and I've been delighted, but it's definitely weird.
> 
> I'd never heard "Hatchet" by Archive before mid-March, either. I'd been going to use "Bullets" (their song that was used in the Cyberpunk 2077 trailer), looked that up on youtube, and clicked on the youtube rec of "Hatchet" on a whim. (And promptly shrieked.)
> 
> [I made a Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6aLOnxt6Gql29bahO0ZZcq?si=hTJ5fA_-RBmb8RV_ed7O6g), but there had to be some of substitutions, which is a problem I have with Spotify. -_-; The in-fic links to youtube work way better. (The original version of "Baby One More Time" just doesn't sound as _sleazy_ as the cover I picked for the fic, for example.)
> 
> Writing-wise: Originally I was thinking, it's fanfic, go on, rush through it and get it out of your system (joke's on me, I'm addicted now). So that's how/why the first chapters ended up being half the length of later chapters, and why some things earlier on just got stated rather than better shown, like Dick's narcissistic behavior with forcing people into a script (though hopefully that still sets up for Y's stealthier similar behavior). (Hi, I've been on the wrong end of narcissistic behavior before, lemme just sic my demons on the fandom a bit. XD ) (Observation: Black Hat is narcissistic but without displaying narcissistic personality disorder traits. NPD is based in a person's fear and self-loathing, though, which... explains Black Hat's immunity. XD ) Anyway, I apologize for that unevenness of pace; I generally prefer to avoid that.
> 
> So uh. While I'll be doing more Villainous fic - not sure if on this scale, but definitely more - I'll also be working on original fic (because now that I can write again and proven it to myself with this, it's high time to get something published). If anyone reading would be interested in beta-reading future stuff I do, comment here or find me on Discord at Starherd#3232 . I'm also open to doing writing commissions, if you really like how I do things.
> 
> Thank you for coming along for the ride!
> 
> p.s. For the record, i ship it _all_. >; 3  
> (But I'm also gray-ace and _any_ relationship is a relationship and therefor 'shipping. ;) )


End file.
